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THE 



urp nf Biu, 



A COLLECTION OF POEMS, &c. 

/ 

BY JOHN LYON. 



WITH NOTES, AND A STEEL PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR 



" Could I embody and unbosom now, 

That which is most -within me,— could I -wreak 

My thoughts upon expression, and thus throw- 
Soul, heart, mind, passions, feelings, strong or weak, 

All that I would have sought, and all I seek, 

Hear, know, feel, and yet breathe — into one Word, 

And that one -word were lightning — I would speak." 



Published for the Benefit of the Perpetual Emigrating Fund. 



LIVERPOOL : 
S. W. RICHARDS, 15, WILTON STREET. 

LONDON : 
T. C. ARMSTRONG, 35, JEWIN STREET, CITY. 

AND ALL BOOKSELLERS. 

1853. 



C^> 



x^l 



r± &\ O 



ENTERED AT STATIONERS* HALL. 



Printed by J. Sadler, 16, Moorfields, Liverpool. 



Mm. 



POEMS. 



Page 

Preface ... ... ... vii 

Dedication ... ... ix 

Lines inscribed to the Author, 
by John Taylor, One of the 

Twelve Apostles ... ... 3 

Inspiration ... ... 5 

Address to Elders F. D. and 

S. W. Richards, (Brothers) 17 
Lines to Elder Franklin D. 
Richards, by Miss Eliza R. 

Snow ... ... ... 20 

A Marvellous Work and Won- 
der ... 23 

Exodus ... ... ... 27 

Impromptu ... ... 29 

The Press ... ... 31 

The Prophet ... ... 34 

Presidency ... ... 37 

Eulogy, to Orson Pratt, one 

of the Twelve Apostles ... 39 
The Perpetual Emigrating 

Fund 41 

Man ... ... ... 42 

Eulogy, to Miss Eliza R. Snow 44 

The Ruined City ... ... 46 

The Poet's Dream ... ... 50 

The Apostate ... ... 53 

The Orphan ... ... 57 

Blind Justice ... ... 60 



Page 
Address delivered to the Saints 

at Burslem, Staffordshire 64 

Farewell ... ... ... 67 

Fear ... ... ... 69 

Reflections on a Bank Note... 71 

Recreation ... ... 73 

There is Something at Hand 75 

Zion ... ... ... 77 

Lines written to Elder Eli B. 
Kelsey, on his return to 

America... .« ... 79 

| Lines to Mrs. Eli B. Kelsey 81 

I Farewell Echo ... ... 84 

Inscribed to Elder J. W. Cum- 

mings ... ... ... 86 

Lines written on the Departure 
of Mr. John Bromley and 
Family for Council Bluffs, 

N. A 88 

Address to 'Forty-Nine ... 90 

Retaliation ... ... 93 

Forgiveness ... ... 95 

The Boy's Questions ... 96 

Axioms ... ... ... 99 

Blessing for the Dead ... 101 

Disease ... ... ... 102 

Profligacy ... ... ... 104 

Ode to Morn ... ... 106 

Water 108 



iv INDEX. 


Page 


Page 


Epistle to Elder James Lin- 


Acrostic, on Jane Bromley 132 


forth Ill 


Acrostic, on an infant Daugh- 


Mrs. T. B. H. Stenhouse's 


ter of Mrs. Holbrooke, 


Farewell to her Husband 116 


Manchester ... ... Ibid. 


Memento ... ... 118 


Acrostic, on Lucy Martin ... 133 


"It's a Cauld Barren Blast 


In Remembrance of Robert 


that blaws Nobody Good" 121 


F.Calderwood ... ... 134 


Thoughts on visiting the 


Lines to Elder G. B. Wallace 135 


Home of my Fathers ... 123 


Epistle to Liverpool... 136 


Lines inscribed to Sisters 


Epistle to Miss J. Bromley 140 


Montgomery and M'Lean 126 


Epistle inscribed to J. 


Time ... ... ... 127 


M'Laws ... ... 142 


Inquiry ... ... ... 129 


Epistle — inscribed to S. R. 145 


Elegy, on Wee Hughie ... 131 


Epistle to Elder John Jaques 148 


SON]S 


rETS. 


Scepticism ... ... 153 


Reverses... ... ... 161 


Signs of the Last Days ... 154 


Man-made Religion ... Ibid. 


Cholera ... ... ... 155 


Sleep of Death ... ... 162 


Lust ... ... ...Ibid. 


Epitaph in Memory of Elder 


In Memory of Elder James 


J. H. Flanigan ... ... 163 


Young ... ... ... 156 


Slaughtering ... ... 164 


Suspicion... ... ... 157 


On the Portrait of Elder G. 


Faith ... ... ... 158 


P. Dykes ... ... Ibid. 


Independence ... ... Ibid. 


Poverty and Debt... ... 165 


Obedience ... ... 159 


A Satire on Avarice ... 166 


Regret ... ... ... 160 





INDEX. 



SONGS. 





Page 




Page 


Strike the Lyre 


.. 169 


Be in Time 


... 183 


I'm a Saint, I'm a Saint 


.. 171 


Mormon Triumph... 


... 185 


Song of Zion 


.. 172 


Pilgrim Saint's Song 


... 187 


The Mountain Dell 


.. 174 


To my Wife 


.. 189 


'Tis for the Best ... 


... 176 


Sing me the Song ... 


.. 191 


Try it again 


... 178 


A Wish ... 


... 192 


Contentment 


... 180 


Oh give me that Land 


... 194 


Auld Mrs. Beard ... 


... 182 


March of Improvement 


... 195 





HYMNS. 




Confidence in God 


201 


Christ's Second Coming 


.. 210 


Confirmation 


202 


Practical Religion 


.. 211 


Anointing and Prayer for the 




Millennial Hymn ... 


.. 213 


Sick ... 


203 


Anthem ... 


.. 215 


Marriage... 


204 










Praise to God 


206 


The Poet's Farewell 


.. 217 


Chant— True Religion 


208 







NOTES. 



$nim. 



In ushering the following effusions into the world, and in 
bringing them before the Saints especially, the Author has 
no apology to make for so doing, more than to say that, as 
some of his productions have appeared in the Millennial 
Star, and other periodicals, and have been received with 
general approbation, he thought, if collected together, with 
others unpublished, they might form a little remembrancer of 
past events connected with the Church of Jesus Christ of 
Latter-day Saints ; and of many of the brethren whose 
friendship and memory he would wish to perpetuate ; and 
at the same time preserve in a combined form a portion 
of his productions for the use of the Saints generally. 



As to the merit or demerit of the work, he leaves that 
entirely to the sense and judgment of the reader ; if he has 
furnished anything for his pastime, profit, or pleasure, he 
has accomplished all he had in view ; and if a good thought 
is engendered, or a noble aspiration drawn forth by reading 



~ly 



PREFACE. 



its pages, it will more than repay all his trouble of com- 
position. 

As a token of an earnest desire for the Gathering of the 
Saints, he bequeathes the Copyright of the work to the 
Perpetual Emigrating Fund. 

With these few observations, he submits his little work, 
with all its imperfections, to the Church throughout the 
universal world, anxiously desiring that they will patronize 
it for the fulfilment of the Lord's word, and their own 
emancipation, which is the sincere prayer of then* friend 
and brother, 

THE AUTHOR 



Glasgow, 

December, 1852. 



Mirntiirc. 



TO F. D. RICHARDS, 

One of the Twelve Apostles. 



Beloved, esteemed, and honoured brother, hear 
The heartfelt breathings of a soul sincere, 
Whilst I indite, without that fulsome praise 
Vain pand'rers seek through mercenary lays 
To gain a favour ! Heaven forbid the claim, 
If such be mine to use your honoured name ! 
No ; rather let my works and fame expire, 
Than live to breathe a sycophant's desire. 
'Tis love alone — for by-past favours done 
In Scotia's isle, where deeds of mercy won 
The praise and love of all the good and true, 
And gave to Eichards what was virtue's due — 
That now incites my muse-inspiring lay 
Thus to inscribe what gratitude would pay. 
Though poor the boon, with my poor muse to live ! 
'Tis all I ask, and all I have to give. 
Not for the sake of filthy lucre's gain, 
Nor love of place, nor honour to attain ! 
But for the Truth, and Zion's cause to spread, 
Giving the fame to Christ, our living Head, 
Are all the motives that induce my muse ; 
If gain'd this end, to write she wont refuse. 



DEDICATION. 



Dear brother lab'rer, though thou'rt young in years, 
Thou'st travelled far, in low and higher spheres, 
And for thy labours thou art highly prized, 
To hold a place by Gods alone devised ! 
What fame so lasting, triumphs or reward 
So great, so worthy of the Saints' regard, 
As to be called and honoured of the Lord, 
His work on earth, and blessings to record : 
To rank among Apostles, and preside 
O'er nations' destinies, and kingly pride ! 
And form a kingdom, based on mercy's plan, 
And give the laws and light of Heaven to man : 
By gathering all that is of gathering worth, 
And giving slaves their freedom on the earth, 
Till thrones and empires, continents, obey, 
And yield obedience to Messiah's sway ! 



These, these, my brother, patron ever kind, 
Invoke the muse thy name with mine to bind ; 
Not that my feeble efforts to aspire, 
Are more sublime, more touched with living fire 
Than others, who have lit the torch divine — 
They may with equal measured lustre shine — 
But with the hope that poesy may be 
The universal language of the free ! 
And every strain of inspiration sound 
Replete with learning, and with Truth profound ; 
Till 'rapt in thought, seraphic and sublime, 
Each Saint inspired shall speak in measured rhyme. 



DEDICATION. 



Go then, my musings, with the Author's prayer. 
To charm the weary, and beguile their care. 
The world may censure, scorn, and criticise ; 
The Saints alone, their worth can justly prize. 
And if one line promote one holy thought ! 
He 's gained the fame his wayward fancy sought ; 
And as a token of the truth he sings, 
He freely gives it, and the price it brings, 
To the Perpetual Emigrating Eund, 
That promised blessings from the Lord, when turned, 
May aid the meek and humble to depart 
From lands of crime to where the pure in heart 
May live in peace from ills in life, secure, — 
Nor/eeZ the curse impending on the poor. 
Go then, and tell to all, the tidings true, 
That Heaven on earth is now commenced anew ! 
That Brigham wears the crown of Utah's star ! 
That counselors rule, and people from afar 
Gather in crowds to Ephraim's promised land, 
Where God's own word shall all the world command. 



HARP OF ZION. 



LINES INSCRIBED TO THE AUTHOR. 
BY JOHN TAYLOR, 

One of the Twelve Apostles, 



Thou Lyon of the East ! I've heard thy roar ; 
Thy voice hath sounded Britain's Isles all o'er ; 
And in Columbia's land a Lyon's known, 
Not by another's works, but by his own. 
And wheresoe'er the British Star is found, 
All know thee by thy voice, thy tone, thy sound. 
Thy bearing, gait, and mien, bespeak thy birth, 
And thy alliance prove with more than earth. 

Let those less noble rack their creaking lyre, 
And try in vain to light the Poet's fire ; 
'Tis thine to take a more exalted stand, 
And touch the living chords with master hand. 



HARP OF ZION. 



With Pope, or Milton, Shakespeare, Mills, or Snow, 
The muse once roused, seraphic numbers flow ; 
Then let the press but herald forth thy lays, 
And thousand tongues shall reverb'rate thy praise. 



But what is praise I 'Tis but an empty toy, 
That little men with smaller souls enjoy : 
Be thine a purer, more exalted aim — 
To light a fire with Truth's celestial flame, 
Wanning each honest heart with holy fire, 
That God, and Truth, and Heaven alone inspire, 
That shall for ever burn while earth remain, 
And in eternal worlds burst forth again. 



POEMS. 



INSPIRATION. 

A Panegyric. 



To thee, spirit-stirring Truth of Heaven ! 
Which, in these latter days, to man is given, 
Do I ascribe the power of Truth in verse, 
By which the muse its beauties can rehearse, 
And write on things which it doth now unfold 
Of all that was by Prophets long foretold. 

How brief, how strange, how seemingly untrue. 
The Ancient 'Records to the carnal view ; 
Yet, fraught with facts o'erflowing to convince 
The sheerest sceptic of their truths, from thence 
Compared with all that has transpired, or grown 
Through time and change, by its brief hist'ry known. 
But ah ! how sad the tale of by-past crime, 
Men then, as now, loved not the Truth sublime, 
Though some aspired, before the sweeping Flood, 
To live, and prove the Priesthood's saving good, 
And were translated to celestial bliss, 
The sure reward of diligence in this : 
While grave longevity, with sinewy strength, 
Gave human life a sin-corrupted length ; 



HARP OF ZION. 



Till crime's foul cat'logue spread the Heavens with 

gloom, 
And brought the awfal Deluge as its doom. 
Let reason wonder, and the learned conceive 
A thousand grave conjectures to believe 
This sweeping scourge ! that nature's haggard face 
In barren hills, and gloomy deserts' space, 
And sterile rocks, and marshy, heathy land, 
Speaks volumes of Jehovah's dread command. 
Yet, blest be Gocl, a seed His goodness shared ! 
While Justice punished, Mercy Noah spared, 
And o'er the sea of shoreless waters bore 
The fragile Ark, fraught with life's ample store 
To multiply, and give the new made earth, 
Through him inspired, a second righteous birth ! 
Transcendent blessing ! when the Earth was curst, 
To float above the deep, where fountains burst 
Their channels, and above where soaring clouds 
Showered down their flood-spouts on the dying 

crowds ! 
To live among the gathered hordes of prey, 
The tame and wild of nature's progeny ; 
And yet to live secure from fear and wreck, 
Inspired to trust in Him who can protect 
When all seems lost. 0, inspiration dear ! 
No joy like thine the weary soul can cheer : 



POEMS. 



When gathering clouds presage the coming storm, 
Faith sees sweet Mercy in the rainbow's form. 
Yet, these alas ! by wicked men unseen, 
Pass unobserved ; they know not what they mean, — 
And if they're seen, how soon by them forgot, 
When saved through mercy, or by judgment smote. 
Alas ! and will this proverb ever stand — 
Man's mem'ry, like his name, 's engraved on sand ! 
Again, how soon through ignorance and fear 
Do Babel's sons a tow'ring temple rear ; 
Again they're scattered, and then language lost, 
And spread afar o'er Egypt's fertile coast. 
Still the pure stream descending in its way, 
Though oft obstructed, wand'ring far astray 
Through lineal line — like subterranean stream, 
Which bursting forth a Lake in beauty's seem, 
Unknown its source, yet pure its fountains flow, 
'Mong arid wastes its blessings to bestow — 
Thus lost at times, the seed of heavenly birth 
Appeared extinct, and perished from the earth. 
Again it comes to brighten up this sphere, 
To guide to virtue, and a God revere. 
Far through the vista of four thousand years 
What strange deception in the world appears, 
From that bright Era when Messiah came ! 
Kings, Emp'rors, then as now, to power laid claim, 



HARP OF ZION. 



While bloodshed, bondage, tyranny, and wrong, 
Subdued and awed the thoughtless, giddy throng ; 
Except a few of Israel's fallen race 
Scattered afar, or living in disgrace 
'Neath Roman power — a vassal tribute pay ; 
Who once knew God, but lost his truthful way. 
Again inspiring Truth illum'd the world 
When Jesus came and Gospel truth unfurled. 
Once more the Priests and Rabbins learned unite 
T oppose the Truth, and its promulgers smite, 
Till persecution, in its vengeful ire, 
Made martyrs by the gibbet, rack, and fire. 
Yes, simple Truth, by Jesus then declared, 
Seemed quite unworthy of a world's regard ; 
And kings, and potentates, in dread array, 
Sought to destroy, what they could not gainsay, 
And nailed the purest virtue to the cross, 
Because, forsooth ! they dreamed of worldly loss, 
Of honour, fame, proud vassalage, and power, 
Which, like a storm-cloud, o'er them seemed to lower, 
And scatter all their air-built towers of fame : 
Afraid, they trembled at King Jesus' name. 
Sedition, treason, armed with vet'rate hate, 
Threw out their vengeance, and made death his fate : 
And thus the Priesthood, whence the power was given, 
Through flames and death ascended up to Heaven. 



POEMS. 



But ah ! what darkness o'er the world was cast, 
More dreadful far than e'er o'erspread the past ; 
For men, rejecting what the Gods designed — 
Through purer laws to purify the mind, 
Became one chaos of eternal strife, 
Fraught with ambition and the pride of life. 
Ah ! when God's spirit ceases to inspire 
With pure emotions by its holy fire, 
No sympathetic feelings cheer the soul, 
No laws to curb, no wisdom to control : 
Self-willed and boist'rous, like the stormy sea, 
Or helmless ship, vain man, more helpless he, 
Is driven where'er his passions rudely tend, 
Till lost ; a wreck we find him in the end. 

Not so the man inspired to know God's laws ; 
It speaks within, it prompts, or makes him pause ; 
Excusing when he virtuously doth live, 
Or else, accusing sternly, doth reprove. 
Thus men but serve the spirit-stirring will, 
For good, when they the good desires fulfil ; 
While from their choice, the bad, opposing, rise 
In face of all conviction, to be wise. 

Inspiration ! 'tis to thee alone 
We owe whate'er is worthy to be known 



I 



10 



HARP OF ZION. 



Of God, or bliss, intelligence, or Heaven ; 

For this thou wert, and now again art given. 

But reft of thee, let by-past hist'ry tell 

How much this earth in semblance is to hell ; 

Where av'rice, crime, and poverty abound, 

And wealth, unbridled, tramples all around. 

Where pampered, sumptuous gluttons live secure 

Above the fear of want, while th' lab'ring poor 

Toil hard to live, to keep life's spark alive, 

That full-fed idlers may luxuriant thrive. 

Not so those evils, where inspired men 

Gave verbal laws from God, or by the pen. 

Prophets of old learned from the Fountain Head, 

And lived examples of the Truth they spread ; 

They dared to teach those laws which God then gave 

A dark, apostate, sinful world to save — 

Not from a future fire-consuming lake, 

But from the hell their present errors make — 

That man ennobled, blest with light divine, 

Might, like the Gods, in truth and glory shine. 

But how absurd, how changed when falsehood wears 
The garb of Truth ; how subtle are its snares ; 
Ten thousand charms delude and lead astray 
The less informed, to villany a prey ; 
Gulled by appearance and the show of things, 



POEMS. 



Plain Truth to them no lasting pleasure brings ; 
But like the owl, unused to dwell in light, 
They see the best when drowned in mental night. 
Thus man, through error, lost Truth's guiding ray, 
And groped in darkness 'midst apostasy ; 
Whilst passions, selfish, hateful, unrefined, 
Reigned universal o'er the human mind ; 
Thus demon-led, Hell opened up her store, 
And gave to man what God denied before — 
Strange Astral art a seeming want supplied, 
And gave by charms — what Heaven through Seers 

denied — 
To know their fate and fortune by the stars, 
Domestic woes, a nation's broils and jars, 
The secret crimes of murder, theft, or fraud, 
From the high statesman to the lowest bawd ; 
As if the Gods had doomed by fate's decree, 
By innate things, man's future destiny ! 
Lo ! Mesmer found somnambulism true — 
A wonderful discovery in lieu 
Of Gospel blessings — and the secret art 
Of knowing actions done, though far apart ! 
Beneath — above, no place but it reveals ; 
The depths of Hell, the heights of Heaven it scales. 
And phreno-mcsmerism found, unsought, 
The secret workings of all human thought ; 



1 



HARP OF ZION. 



The springs and bias of man's inward will ; 
The power of minerals to cure or kill 
With rings of zinc, galvanic belts, and peas ; 
To raise an issue to let out disease, 
Pills, plasters, glisters, bleeding, and such stuff- 
To gull the feeble, and the rich to puff. 
glorious blessings ! gifts of Satan's power, 
Who would not prize you in this darkened hour I 
How kind the demons, when the Gods do frown, 
To bless the world, and all their folly own ! 
Who would not gladly prize and bless the boon 
By which we learn the secrets of the moon, 
And stars ! and all those orbs that roll on high, 
Unknown to man, till science brought them nigh ; 
Through which we have the healing power displayed 
Without the Gospel, or its priestly aid ; 
By which discerning spirits can foretell 
The baser passions that within us dwell : 
To the discov'ry all the candid own 
How much thou hast revealed, before unknown ; 
While, these improved, still greater blessings claim, 
And link discov'ry with a Seership's name. 
science ! science ! falsely named art thou, 
Methinks I see the learned beneath thee bow ; 
The pious priest in sacerdotal stole, 
The patient student o'er the midnight oil, 



POEMS. 



The sage philosopher with rule and guage, 
Eager to match thee with Truth's sacred page, 
Which now, though lost, frail man would still retain, 
And grasp the shadow for the form again. 

Hail, glorious Truth ! revealed in latter days, 
Dispelling darkness in thy noontide blaze ; 
How far transcendent is thy priceless worth, 
Compar'd with all the wisdom of this earth ! 
Ah ! how deceived besotted mortals be, 
Striving to give conjecture void — a plea, 
A name, and place, to things beyond their reach, 
And aid deception by the things they preach ; 
They, knowing not, or knowing, strive to plead 
Uncertainty for Truth's unerring creed ! 
While on God's mount, a standard is unfurled 
To give His laws, and change this ruin'd world. 
To her the Priesthood and its laws record 
The Gospel precepts, blessings, all restored. 
Apostles, Prophets, Teachers, sent from God, 
Now wield the sceptre of His iron rod, 
To seal, and bind the laws of Heaven on earth, 
And bring again a pure, celestial birth ; 
Far in the west this ensign now presage, 
The Stick of Ephraim's long predicted page, 
Whose seed should push the scattered from all lands, 



14 



HARP OF ZION. 



Eestore their rights, and loose the tyrant's bands. 

By his anointed Seer's inspiring word, 

And bring on earth the Kingdom of our Lord. 



matchless Wisdom ! intricate, sublime, 
That fails not, though no likely place nor time 
Could give on Palestina's Eastern strand 
A place for Joseph in that promised land ! 
Should in Columbia's far-stretched continent 
Restore the fulness of His covenant, 
And raise from thence a shepherd of their own, 
Of Jacob's loins, to make these secrets known : 
And bring those blessings of the sun and moon, 
And precious things beneath— the priceless boon 
Of knowledge, truth, and light, made o'er to thee — 
As well the treasures of the boundless sea, 
With fertile lands, and fruitful progeny, 
That forth from thee, Zion — pure in heart. 
Should come the first dominion, to impart 
The sacred power, authority, and laws, 
And bring again God's kingdom, as it was 
In olden times, when Judges held the sway, 
And Patriarchs ruled, and children did obey 
Their sires, with pure undeviating love, 
And won their blessings when they did approve. 
Thrice blest Religion ! blent with blessings rife, 



POEMS. 



From whence spring sweetest joys of social life, 

By mutual ties upborne, by virtue led 

To look with reverence on a higher Head. 

Where children, taught submission day by day, 

Will hear more promptly what then* rulers say, 

And thence become a pure and noble race, 

To hold a higher, more exalted place, — 

Through Inspiration's gifted power, attain 

To dwell with Gods ! when Christ on earth shall reign ; 

And thus progress through grace and glory given, 

To know the truth of God, and Christ, and heaven ; 

And have the light within, to witness bear 

Of all they know, and taste, and see, and hear, 

Of God's great goodness to a fallen race, 

Who've spurned before the offers of his grace. 

But now the promise made on Ephraim's head, 

Though distant far from all his brethren led, 

As plants cut off, and scattered o'er the sea, 

Where friends, nor foes, nor kindred flesh had he, 

To live alone, till progeny gave birth, 

And raised a multitude amidst the earth ! 

That iii the Latter-day again should rise, 

From Joseph's loins, a seed to bless the wise. 

Lo ! on Cumorah's hill an angel stands, 
And gives to Joseph records and commands ! 






HARP OF ZION. 



The sacred records fraught with Truth divine 
To prove that land, (Columbia,) was thine, 
To whom the birthright of the seed belonged, 
Though red, and barb'rous, outcast, robbed, and 

wronged, 
Yet rightful heirs, when God his word fulfills, 
Should claim the bound'ries of the lasting hills ; 
And through obedience, have the curse removed : 
Whom He had for their fathers' sakes beloved. 

happy day ! how blest a fallen world, 
To know the Gospel is again unfurled, 
That men inspired, now hold its powerful sway, 
And missioned far, reveal the heavenly ray ! 
- Thrice happy day ! when Saints for trials past 
Will find rewards eternally to last — 
For pains, and penalties, a glorious crown ; 
For shame and scorn, praise, honour, and renown. 
Come then my soul, with all thy powers engage, 
Be this thy aim, Christ's warfare still to wage. 



POEMS. 



ADDRESS 
TO ELDERS F. D. AND S. W. RICHARDS (Brothers,) 
On their leaving Scotland for tlie Camp of Israel. February 15, 18 



Farewell! beloved of the Lord, farewell — 
In Scotland's name a Scot would dare to tell 
How much we've prized your labours since you came, 
Though now you leave for lands of brighter fame, 
Where Truth and Love — eternal as the spheres — 
Shall wield the sceptre through unnumbered years. 
Farewell ! but oh ! one lasting boon I crave, 
Remember Scotland, and her sons — so brave — 
So poor— so hardy, and withal, so true ! 
That they could wish to live and die with you. 

Pardon the feeling, if too fondly sung — 
You gave the sentiments that move the tongue — 
The Genii's breath ! the life pulse, and the flow 
Of heaven-born truths, that freemen only know : 
And you in Zion can that succour yield 
To gath'ring clansmen when they take the field. 
Yes, Brothers Richards, when you're far away, 
We'll court your friendship, and a chieftain's stay. 
Oh ! mark the motto of our nation's pride — 



18 HARP OF ZION. 



The full-blown thistle on your bonnet's side ; 
Your tartan plaids, in Gaelic costume, tell 
Of lands where Ossiansung — brave Wallace fell ! 
Where daring men for independence bled — 
Nor Eoman power — nor Saxon foemen sped. 
Land of immortal bards ! and martyrs brave, 
That tyrants awed, but never could enslave ! 
And where the watchword, Freedom ! still inspires 
Her sons to imitate their noble sires. 
'Yet, milder words, dear Brothers, are your due, 
We know you'll pardon what we can't subdue. 
Still, Scotland ! like the Lion, from her mane 
Would shake the dew ! her freedom to regain. 
In parting thus from Scotland we'd implore 
Your kindly int'rest on your native shore. 

Accept in words a nation's warmest love — 
While coupled actions ample witness prove 
How much we've loved you, and will love you still, 
Though wisdom whispers, " Do your Master's will." 
Ten thousand Saints their throbbing hearts will raise 
To Heaven's high King to bless your future days, 
And safely guard you in that happy home 
Where gathered millions shout — The Kingdom's come ! 
And wives and sires recount your honours won ! 
And bless your names, as Husband, Father, Son ! 



POEMS. 19 



Accept these presents, which our hearts record, 
To Brother Brigham, Lion of the Lord! 
The Twelve ! and all good Saints who do us know, 
And last, not least, for us, kiss Sister Snow ! 
Tell them, though darkness broods around, — the while 
Star-light still sparkles in this sunset isle, 
By which the Saints still Zionward are led, 
And niourn no more a living Spencer dead ! 
Farewell ! and while you rise in Godlike fame, 
We'll ever pray for blessings on your name. 



20 HARP OF ZION. 



LINES TO ELDER FRANKLIN D. RICHARDS. 
BY MISS ELIZA R. SNOW. 



Thrice welcome, herald of eternal Truth ! 
Glad tidings of salvation you in youth 
Have borne to thousands o'er the watery main ; 
And now we hail you in our midst again — 
With int'rest hear you of the welfare tell 
Of our dear brethren who in Britain dwell. 

What keen sensations must have filled your heart 
When duty's unction prompted you to part 
With those — whose welfare with your pulses joined, 
And whose existence with your own entwined — 
Exposed to cruel suffering in a land 
Where persecution held a reeking hand! 

Forsaking all, with Godlike, fixed intent, 
To Europe's shore, for Zion's sake you went. 
The Heavens, with approbative whispers, bless 
With constant favour, constant faithfulness : 
And you were crowned with blessings not a few ; 
The Saints in Europe love and bless you too ; 



POEMS. 



But Scotland seemed your labours most to share, 
And friendship wove for you bright garlands there. 
And now your heart's warm pulses fondly twine 
Around the motto of their royal line — 
Th' insignia which their own brave fathers had — 
The thistled bonnet, and the tartan plaid. 

Back to their banks, and braes, and highland 
dells, 
Their spiral cities, and their moss-grown cells — 
The land o'er which bold Genius' goddess yearns, — 
Sir Walter's birth-place, and the home of Burns ; 
Your spirit now, on thought's swift pinions borne, 
To mingle with the Saints will oft return. 
But brother Richards, welcome ! here remain 
Till God appoints to other climes again ; 
And may the power of lives eternal shed 
Unnumbered blessings on the path you tread. 

Whene'er you write him, will you please to send 
My cordial salutations to your friend, 
The gifted "Lyon ;" whose sweet sounding lyre 
Breathes more than Ida's — breathes celestial fire ; 
To whom the high prerogative is given, 
To circulate the glorious truths of Heaven, 
And through the medium of the " Star," diffuse 



HARP OF ZION. 



The emanations of his Heavenly muse. 
And Brigham Young, the " Lion of the Lord," 
Sends love and blessing to the Scottish bard, 
And all the faithful Saints of God who dwell 
Where Ossian sung— where Bruce and Wallace fell. 
Tell them to wait in hope for " Liberty," 
Till Jesus Christ shall make his people free — 
Till Zion's glorious banner is unfurled, 
And her high standard overlooks the world. 



In holy aspirations to His throne- 
To whom the secrets of all hearts are known ; 
Whose are the issuing springs of life and death — 
The deep-toned promptings of our spirit's breath 
With fervour are ascending night and day, 
That for the Saints He soon will clear the way, 
That scatter'd Israel may be gather'd home 
To Zion, where the " best from worlds " will come. 



POEMS. 23 



A MARVELLOUS WORK AND WONDER. 

INSCRIBED TO HIS EXCELLENCY BRIGHAM YOUNG, 

Governor of Utah Territory* 



A change of dread reform 
Comes looming o'er the earth ! 
'Tis like a Deluge storm. 
Convulsed to have its birth. 
From pole to pole it moans, 
From zone to zone 'tis heard, 
In ceaseless warning tones, 
As if the heavens were stirred ! 
The desert waste, and isles, 
And continents afar, 
Seem wrapt within its coils — 
A sound of peace and war ! 
It comes ! with eagle's flight, 
It booms o'er land and sea, 
A strange foreboding light 
Of future destiny. 

'Tis not the sun and moon 
In blood and darkness hid ! 



24 HARP OF ZION. 



Nor jet the dark Simoon, 
That comes with terror dread ; 
Nor plague's foul venomed breath. 
That makes the churchyard yawn ; 
Nor fire, nor stake, nor death, 
By war's red falchion drawn ; 
Nor earthquake's stag'ring reel 
O'er mountains fallen — hurled ; 
Nor yet, the ocean's seal 
Unloosed to drown the world : 
These, these in part may sum 
Its consummating power, 
But other things will come 
In God's tremendous hour ! 

'Tis not the patriots brave 
Who've toiled for ages past, 
And spent their all to save 
A world with crime o'ercast ; 
Nor commerce and its toil, 
Its mis'ry and its wealth ; 
Nor gifts that donors pile 
To stay the foe of health ; 
Nor miser-hoarded gain ! 
Nor charity bestowed, 
Can turn the people sane — 



POEMS. 



For which their alms were sowed : 
These all have failed to bring 
A lasting source of bliss ; 
They've only left a sting — 
To damn a world like this. 

'Tis not the holy fraud 
Of friars, and cloistered nuns ; 
Nor vot'ries of the bawd, 
With all her ghostly sons ; 
Nor Socialism's plan, 
Nor Chartist's flaming might, 
To proffer sinful man 
What folly says is right ! 
'Tis not the Atheist's creed 
Of Rousseau, or Voltaire ; 
Nor bigots' spawny breed 
That sects increasing bear : 
These, these are cold and dead ; 
'Tis something more sublime, 
'Tis Truth's gigantic tread 
Upon the Verge of Time. 

Here comes this unknown theme, 
A marv'lous work and wonder ! 
Though laughed at as a dream, 



26 HARP OF ZION. 



'Twill shake the world asunder. 
A "Clown /" in distant lands, 
Lays claim to Revelation; 
With power, his word commands 
The fate of every nation. 
Yes, yes, he's left the wild 
Where persecutors bore him ; 
Delusion's dreadful Child ! 
Now drives the world before him. 
The pious of all lands 
Have stamp'd his name infernal — 
This "Clown"! will break their bands, 
And reign when earth's eternal. 

The Heathen despot's power 
Shall crumble 'neath his sway ; 
No kingly honoured dower, 
Nor threats, shall him dismay. 
No lands nor thrones he'll barter 
For slaves, or paltry gold ; 
He'll free them by God's Charter, 
Whom robbers bought and sold ! 
He'll ask no odds of tyrants, 
Nor sceptred silly kings ! 
Nor blood-stained proud aspirants, 
Who've done such cruel things. 



POEMS. 27 



He'll crown the pure with might, 
When error's downward hurled. 
His war's for God and Right — 
His conquest is the world. 



EXODUS. 



Ye sons of Israel arise, 

Nor round your city dally, 
An echoing voice prophetic cries, 

" Go seek some lonely valley." 
In ambuscade the foemen lie, 
Watching you with a tiger's eye : 
Up, and away to your mountain home, 
Where wild beasts prowl, and red men roam : 

There round your standard rally. 

Oh! linger not, though loved ones plead, 

And fondly wish you'd tarry. 
Proscribed, yet blessed, why should you dread 



HARP OF ZION. 



The blood-stained emissary. 
Your Temple's spire still points to Heaven, 
Whence God reviews the outcasts driven, 
And angels guard the hallowed ground — 
Till, once with glorious triumph crowned, 

You Zion back shall carry. 

Shall scornful Gentiles' ruthless ire 

The work of God fufilling, 
E'er quench the rapturous desire 

That's in your bosom thrilling ! 
Be still, and know the voice of God, 
The coming bliss, the fearful rod : 
There hide ye till the scourging blast 
"Of judgment set, and thrones o'ercast;" 

There wait for God's revealing. 

Go where ne'er a white man trod ; 

Unveil each Indian nation ; 
Unfold the stick of Ephraim's God, 

The cov'nant of Salvation ! 
Then, the despised and trodden down 
Shall rise to glory and renown, 
And nations in earth's midst shall flow 
To Zion, and a kingdom grow, 

To swell the restoration. 



POEMS. 29 



IMPROMPTU. 

Written in commemoration of President Orson Hyde's Departure 
from England for the Camp of Israel, 1847. 



Farewell, blest messenger of peace ; 

God's blessing go with thee ; 
Calm be the winds to waft thee o'er 

The boist'rous rolling sea. 
Like Noah's dove, far thou hast soared, 

A resting place to find, 
Where sin's devouring deluge swept 

The peace of human kind. 

Back to the Aek, again thou'lt bear 

On wing the glad'ning news, 
That sin's dark flood has left the land, 

Though leaves lie strewed profuse ; 
And oh ! how happy will they be 

To greet the "Branch of Peace," 
And eager list the dove-like tale — 

"The troubled waters cease." 

May still increasing joys abound, 
Best tidings of thy toil ! 



30 HARP OF ZION. 



When thou shalt tell how waning oaks 
Unearthed, now root the soil ; 

And seeds npon the surge far cast, 
In. fruitful forests grow ; 

Whilom, where barrenness had reigned, 
Now springs refreshing flow. 

Fly, brother, to the Camp afar, 

Where fond hearts throb with grief, 
And let the persecuted know 

Thy message brought relief. 
Tell every soul we live and love, 

And long with them to be, 
That we united may rejoice. 

Heaven's blessings go with thee ! 



POEMS. 



THE PEESS. 

INSCRIBED TO ELDER ORSON SPENCER, A.B., 

While Editor of the "Millennial Star." 



How vast thy treasures, soul-inspiring Star ! 

What power like thine so truthful to control ! 
While all the world's at enmity — ajar, 

Thou bringest light and peace to eveiy soul. 
Tongue-speaking spirit of a Heavenly home ! 

The Saints shall laud thee in all time to come. 

Star-light of Zion ! 'twas thy loud acclaim 
By which our Prophet was immortal made ; 

When persecution dragged him into fame, 
Thou laidst his body in the martyr's shade, 

And with a cherub's trump flew far and near, 
Sounding the tale of bloodshed's dark career. 

All but omniscient — thine Argus eyes 

From pen and press look out an hundred ways, 

Unmasking malice, and refuting lies 

In all their vileness, by thy Venus blaze ! 

Lawyer and statesman, piiest and peasant, feel 
The praise or censure which thou dost reveal. 



32 HARP OF ZION. 



When parted friends, by fortune's gath'ring fate, 
Can't meet the while to form a social tie, 

Thy deep drawn lines, in burning words relate 
Old love and friendship, when no soul is nigh ; 

Till fond remembrance, poring o'er thy strain, 
Forgets, and dreams "we all shall meet again." 

Read we of lands remote, in barb'rous climes, 

Which Young, and Pratt, and Brannan travelled 
o'er; 

Where savage hordes, unknown to Christian crimes, 
Invite the wand'ring outcast to explore. 

The hopeful Saint surveys their lone abode, 
And lifts his mind in gratitude to God. 

There's not a valley, mountain, strath, nor stream, 
Nor note, nor song, nor wild flower's gaudy hue ; 

Nor light, nor shade, nor bright poetic dream, 
That ever Genius in her fancy drew — 

But what thy wizard magic charm hath wrought, 
To conjure up the image of a thought ! 

Soul-quick'ning Star ! thy light-diffusing rays 
Shall yet dispel the gloom of mental night, 

And haste the glory of Millennial days, 

With bright effulgence on the Heathen's sight : 



POEMS. 



When all shall know, throughout this world's vast 

bound, 
Through Truth's inspiring type, "the joyful sound." 

And what but thee, thou alchymist of mind ! 

Could mould a thought to glad the wond'ring eye, 
And give to sentiment, so well defined, 

The silent breathings of a virtuous sigh ; 
Or paint the feelings love-sick eyes impart ; 
Or speak the language of a broken heart? 

Thanks to the printing press for wisdom sound ! 

When tongues are mute and mould'ring in the dust, 
It gives the echo of their thoughts profound, 

And keeps the treasure with a miser's trust : 
It tells their feelings, sorrows, joys, and fears, 
And points the anguish of their brimful tears. 

Ten thousand blessings, and an angel's arm, 
Defend thy virtue, and thy toils reward ; 

Till vice falls prostrate by thy dread alarm, 
And all the world thy matchless worth regard. 

Blest herald ! go — march with the rising sun, 

Nor stop till thou his ample course hast run. 



34 HARP OF ZION. 



THE PROPHET. 



On a mound where the dark Mississippi rolled past, 
The Prophet gazed sadly o'er Time's ruthless blast, 
In a vision of thought, to that eastern shore 
Where Joshua dwelt in his glory of yore. 
He thought of the Mussulman's tyranny there ; 
Of the scattered condition, the shame, and despair, 
Of Abraham's seed, — when a voice from on high 
Said, — " Joseph ; give heed, for their freedom is nigh : 
" Prepare, for the brand of their infamy's gone, 
" And the hour of redemption for them rolleth on. 
" My name is Jehovah, and who shall withstand, 
" The sceptre I sway for my seed in that land. 
" Go call forth my servant, e'en Orson my son, 
" Anoint him, and send him — my work is begun ; 
" For the hearts of my people are lifted in prayer, 
" And my promise of old is awaiting them there. 
" Yes, bless him with power, that the land may partake 
" By his word all the blessings I have for their sake ; 
" That his name, as a branch of the old Olive vine, 
" May ingraft them in peace, as dear children of mine ; 
" That the curse of my vengeance may rest upon those 
" Who have laughed at their misery, and scorned all their 
woes. 



POEMS. 



" Come Joseph, my son, I will give thee the line 

" To measure that land for my blessings divine. 

" Through thy voice, by my servant, all hearts I'll control ; 

" Though the wicked may rage, and the savage may howl, 

" Yet, their curse and their rage will but hasten it on, 

" And nations will raise up my people, when known, 

" To sit in the courts, where their chiefs legislate ; 

" That their name may be feared, and their power may be 

great. 
" And the riches of nations will flow unto thee, 
" That the land may be bought, and my people made free. 
" Let Olivet's mount be the seat of his blessing, 
" For his word shall be law to the ruthless oppressing, 
" And the hills shall rejoice, and the valleys be glad, 
" And thousands shall sing who in anguish were sad, 
" And the streets of Jerus'lem, yet, all thronged shall be ; 
u With the sound of their young men, and maidens with 

glee; 
" And their old men shall live to the age of a tree. 
" Shout, Jerusalem, shout, for thy warfare is o'er, 
" And the Pagans who've spoiled thee, shall spoil thee no 

more." 
The voice ceased to speak, while the Prophet amazed, 
Saw the clouds gather round where in vision he gazed ; 
And his eye turned again where the deep waters rolled, 
While he mused on the message which God did unfold. 



HARP OF ZION. 



Sure it was not the torrent that roared as it passed, 
Nor the earthquake, nor scream of the hurricane blast, 
Nor the fire, nor the thunder's loud — rumbling roar, 
That he heard, when the Angel intelligence bore. 
'Twas as still as the sound of the Zephyr's mild breeze, 
When the soft breath of mora stirs the leaves on the trees. 
" Yes, yes," he exclaimed, " 'twas the voice of the Lord, 
" And I go, gladly go, to fulfil every word." 
That mandate's fulfilled, and long years past and gone 
Since that land was restored to old Jacob anon ; 
And the spirit now bums in the breast of each Jew, 
To gather, and purchase, and build it anew ; 
Till Messiah shall come in the brightness of Heaven, 
To clothe them with power, and their sins be forgiven. 



POEMS. 



PRESIDENCY. 



To rule with power, requires no foreign aid 

Of weapons, steel, or ball ; pure moral force 

Is Heaven's directory to fallen man ; 

And he who yields obedience to its law, 

Will learn by social virtue to restrain, 

Inspire, persuade, and win the froward mind. 

Yet bold, when daring spirits would aspire 

To trample underfoot the dignity 

Of Heaven. Gentle, in child-like phrase so plain, 

And yet withal so powerful to convince, 

That to resist command, would be a sin 

More heinous than the crime of fratricide ! 

To rule, requires philosophy profound ! 
And purity of action to enforce ; 
As well the voice to reach the deaf, dull ear. 
Novicial knowledge doth but ill comport 
Where mental power and aptitude to teach 
Are all pre-requisites to ruling power. 
As oft, perchance, a chord of finer tone 
Might ill accord with uncouth, vulgar sounds. 
Choice words for chaster ears, well sorted, stir 
To ecstasy th' enlightened soul, and waft 



HARP OF ZION. 



The ideality of man to Heaven. 
Thus Wisdom, mistress of the ruling art, 
Steals o'er the passions with a magic charm, 
And prostrates all resistance to the Truth. 
Compassion points the sceptre's God-like sway, 
And, as a finis to her Heavenly scheme 
Of Saintly prowess, loves, and thus subdues / . 
The less illuminated feel the charm ; — 
J^o more illusion rears her doubtful crest, 
Nor mole-hills mountains in perspective seem ; 
And ignorance, who once rebelled, obeys ! 
And wonders how he erred ! 

A President 
Is one inspired by an all-quick'ning power, 
To know the working of the human heart, 
To draw from out the well of living thought 
The philosophic worth of man, and point 
The way of life to bliss ineffable ! 



POEMS. 



Eulogy, 

TO ORSON PRATT, 

One of the Twelve Apostles, 



If truth in man be virtue's highest aim, 
And gifted wisdom all that's worth a name ; 
If reasoning power, with intellect refined, 
Be Heaven's best boon to aid the human mind ! 
Say, who so highly honoured by our God, 
To point the way to bliss, and lead the road, 
By preaching, precept, practice, and the pen, 
As Elder Pratt, among apostate men ? 
Where in the lab'rinth of scholastic lore, 
Could one be found so powerful to restore 
Plain simple Truth from dreamy aerial things 
More flighty than the Heavenly host with wings, 
And endless jangle 'bout unseen causality, 
Than Pratt's expose of Immateriality I 
And who of all the Theologic school, 
Could write of Zion with prophetic rule, 
Or pen God's Kingdom with precision clear, 
Except the man who'd seen our martyred Seer ? 
Whose claims, and titles, with superiority, 
He's well maintained in his " Divine Authority ; " 



40 HARP OF ZION. 



And given an outline of his Heavenly "Visions," 
Opposed to Satan and the world's derisions. 
Or yet defend, like an inspired sage, 
The Book of Mormon from the sacred page ? 
Such works demand our lasting gratitude, 
And will be read by all the great and good, 
Who long to see a kingdom raised on earth, 
Where Truth and Virtue only will be worth. 
Where men will learn to bless their fellow-men, 
And do each other all the good they can. 
Where mere nonentity, and senseless clatter 
On dreamy themes and non-existent matter, 
Will have no place ; nor fictious story-telling, 
In all the colleges of Zion's dwelling ! 



POEMS. 



THE PERPETUAL EMIGRATING FUND. 



Come on, ye rich, with all your gifted store ; 
Give to the poor, and God will give you more I 
Your feeling hearts, responsive to His call, 
Will find His love and blessing best of all : 
Yea, tenfold int'rest on the things you have, 
And more than all your charities e'er gave ! 
Why should the rich not help the lab'ring poor ? 
Both are compelled to knock at Mercy's door I 
As well the river scorn the stream and brook 
From which it all its swelling greatness took, 
Or the great sea retain her liquid store, 
Nor give one drop to quench the parched shore, 
As wealth withhold accumulated toil, 
And say to Poverty, — Starve on the while ! 
*" Let richer Saints pour in their glitt'ring gold, 
'Twill pave your way to Zion's mountain fold ! 
Ten thousand hearts, with prayerful ardour, seek 
The means to live, yet mourn from week to week, 
Who could be blest through your beneficence, 
To go where labour gains a recompense ! 
Oh, then ! let love your names in sums record 
What you will do for Zion, and the Lord ! 
Ye poor who labour, learn with pure delight, 



42 HARP OF ZION. 



How much in value was the widow's mite I 

How farthings multiplied to pence make pounds, 

And pounds, to hundreds, thousands — have no bounds ! 

Till every Saint relieved, and sinner stunned, 

Will shout, — Look Here ! at this Perpetual Fund ! 



M A tf . 



Man, when his constitution is unfurled, 
Resembles much this great material world ! 
Of dust and earth his sluggish flesh is made ; 
Like rocks his bones in strength and firmness laid ; 
How like the ebb and jfow; of ocean's waves, 
Unto the tide of life that in him laves ; 
As brooks and rivers moisten where they flow, 
And trees and herbs to this their being owe ; 
So blood, like water, runneth every where, 
To give the springs of life an equal share. 
How, like electric fire, his nerves convey 
The feeling of life's power or energy ; 



POEMS. 



43 



How like the airy breeze, his respiration ; 
His tears, to rain ; sweat, to evaporation ; 
His fat like manure; and his hair like grass. 
Sheds modest beauty o'er the human mass ; 
How like the beaming sun, his eyes to light ; 
His sleep, how like the dark and silent night ; 
The wandering clouds, how like his restless mind, 
Still roving on, and changing as the wind ; 
How like the storm, to human blust'ring strife, 
That bursts with vengeance on the calm of life ; 
How like droughfs searing influence, to sin, 
That blights his hopes and happiness within ; 
How like the fogs and damps of putrid ah', 
To melancholy, and the mind's despair ; 
How like the soured earth on plants and trees, 
To that dread agent of the curse, disease ; 
How like the seasons to his growth and fall; 
How like the frost and snow to death's white pall 



44 



HARP OF ZION. 



EULOGY, 

TO MISS ELIZA R. SNOW. 



Eliza Snow is the queen of the muse ; 

The tones of her mystic Lyre 
Would soothe the rage of the savage breast, 

And the fainting heart inspire ! 
Well may the Saints rejoice, and sing 

Her sweet numbers as they flow ; 
From east to west search this world round, 

Who sings like our sister Snow % 

Her strains of Heavenly rapture sweet, 

With valourous deeds engage ; 
When fired by wrongs and oppressive might, 

She sings like a Grecian sage ! 
In Herculean strength, her verse is strung ; 

Her words, like a giant's blow, 
Would kill the blackest venomed heart : — 

None sing like our sister Snow ! 



A friend of man and right is she, 
And a foe to priestcraft's hire; 

Her satire keen would pierce the heart, 
Her pathos melt like fire. 



POEMS. 45 



Alike o'er desert, hill, and glen, 

She makes all nature glow; 
So varied are the thrilling tones 

Of inspired sister Snow. 

Long, long, may her harp in tune remain, 

Touched by her goddess hand, 
Till fame's loud trump proclaims — enough, 

In Zion's favoured land. 
When gems in her exalted crown, 

Like stars shall spark'ling glow ; 
Where every tongue shall lisp the name 

Of our dear sister Snow ! 



46 HARP OF ZION. 



THE RUINED CITY. 



Alas ! and is this far-famed city doomed 

To be the residence of ruffian men ; 

The monument of mad sectarian ire, 

Where dwelt, or sought to dwell, in peace secure, 

The gathered thousands of the latter-day — 

The Saints ! 

But why deserted thus ? 'Tis strange 
That chosen men should perish by the sword, 
And vanquished, leave their dear-bought homes, 
And cultured fields, to blood-stained, nmrd'rous men. 
Alas, Nauvoo ! fair city of the Seer ! 
Thy streets, where once the busy throng were wont 
To glide, are now o'er-grown with grass and weeds ; 
Thy doorless, paneless houses, mournful wail, 
Deep sighs now gossiped by the gusty wind ; 
The wood-huts torn away, now leave no mark 
Where once their frame-work stood, save chimney stalk 
Peering alone, like gravestones o'er the dead. 
Alas ! had God forgotten to be kind ? 
W^as not this city built His purpose to 
Fulfil, and found his Kingdom last of all 
Upon this earth ? Was not this Temple reared, 



POEMS. 



Wherein the secrets of eternity 

Might be made known, though now a ruined mass ! 

Here riot revels undisturbed, and here 
Debauch'ry's florid, sin-provoking face 
Reveals the recklessness of lawless life, 
Alike regardless of all law, they brave 
Stern justice, decency, and natural right. 
Heavens ! and this that Zion once was called, 
Has now become a hell of lawless fiends. 

The grove ! where erst the hymn of praise was sung, 
Is now the haunt of ribaldry and jest ; 
And where the words of Inspiration flowed 
From holy men, is now the fane of lust, 
And frothy, sacrilegious mirth. 

And has this place, where honest men once lived, 
Become a den of uncaged, unclean birds ? 
Whose frontal visage wears the cursed mark 
Of Cain ! No business tells then- love of frugal life, 
Their fields, unploughed, the sluggard's harvest bear. 
And squalid wretches their ill-earned pay, 
Proclaim their envy, idleness, and want ; 
But deadlier than the crime of Cain, they've shed 
The purest blood e'er flowed in human vein, 



HARP OF ZION. 



Save the immaculate Son of God ! yes, 

Joseph, thou wert slain, and Hyrum with thee 

Fell, by the assassins' deadly rifle ball ! 

While others with thee shared a lesser doom, 

Though marred, were savedby time's preventing hand 

To give their evidence, in time to come, 

Of martyred men who fell for Heaven-born Truth. 

And thus, thy curse, thy blasting, withering curse, 

Shall cease not, till thy ruin woeful tells 

A living, lingering death, more frightful far 

Than Carthage, or old Sodom's awful doom ; 

Yes, strange to tell, thou'lt be the first to rise, 

When dire destruction, and the scourging rod 

Have swept and cleansed pollution from the earth. 



Here rest the ashes of the martyred dead, 
Whose lives were spent in Truth's eternal cause ; 
In perils oft 'mong would-be friends and foes, 
Scorned by the world, and like the hunted roe, 
Panted in seclusion from the chase of 
Bloodhounds bearing human form, to breathe and 
Run again, 'till the envenomed world 
Shed their pure blood, and " chased them up to Heaven." 
Alas ! but why should error triumph ? why 
Should they whom God had sent to save, be left 
To fall ? Hush, reason reft of Eevelation, hear ! 



POEMS. 



'Twas all foreknown that they to whom this tale 

Should come, would treat their message with contempt, 

And by their death and testimony seal 

The Priesthood, and its power, and farther spread 

The Heaven-born Truth. E'en this bleak ruin gave 

The tell-tale echo to a slumbering world, 

That fame's loud trump nor thousand tongues could reach. 

And thou, Nauvoo, the first of Stakes, though spoiled, 

Art writ, and sealed in the archives of Heaven, 

And shall come forth, in primal glory crowned, 

And flourish in celestial bloom, when Saints 

Shall reign, and Christ and God be all in all. 



HARP OF ZION. 



THE POET'S DKEAM. 



High on a rock methoitght he sat. 'Twas night, 
And silent nature spread her beauties far — 
Above, below, through chequered clouds, where bright 
The moon shone o'er each broken, fleecy spar, 
That seemed a world of cities to unfold, 
Where hills, and dales in distance, viewless lay, 
And towers, and spires, surpassing burnished gold, 
All peopled, mute before him passed away. 
And as the slow winds moved, dissolving views 
Portrayed the inmates fall of life and glee, 
Tripping the merry dance in varied hues 
Of youth and beauty, sex and gallantry. 
Around their festive boards, fair troubadours 
Sang of past times, of valour, vict'ry, might, 
Where men had fought, and won what bliss secures — 
A place among the valiant sons of light ! 
Methought the genii caught him, — and away 
They soon were placed beyond this joyous mirth ; 
His soul uplifted, felt as if new day 
Had dawned upon the miseries of earth. 

Anon, the vision changed, and full before 
Him rose a temple, beautifully grand ; 



POEMS. 

E'en Solomon's, of which he'd read of yore, 

Seemed nothing to this fairy palaced land. 

Within, without, his eye could clear discern 

Its castellated halls, and lofty domes — 

Those sacred places where the virtuous learn 

The mystic lore, its museums and its tombs. 

But one blest spot, more sacred than the rest, 

Near to this palace, struck his wond'ring gaze — 

It was the Temple, where the dead are blest 

To hold the memory of a people's praise ; 

To lie interr'd, while o'er their tombs engraved, 

Their names, their virtues, and their worth are told ; 

How much they suffered ere to glory raised. 

Within this fane, pale marble did unfold 

Two figures, great in magnitude, 

Noble in stature, graced with Godlike mien ; 

The first of heroes who had shed their blood, 

To whom the Lord gave power on earth to reign ! 

Around its walls, all sculptured he beheld 

The names of hundreds whom he thought he knew, 

Honour'd for science, art, to them revealed, 

And genius poesy but gave a few. 

Above the columns of this sacred hall, 
A female figure dressed in robes of white, 
With comely features, beautiful, and tall, 



■ »• • ~^ 1 

I 

52 HARP OF ZION. 



Held in her hand, fair Utah's Sckoll of right ; 

And on its fold twelve names waved on record. 

And others lost were twisted in its flow, 

Where he deciphered, spelling each faint word, 

The honoured name of " Miss Eliza Snow " ! 

Struck with the vision of her earthly fame 

The poet gazed on all he saw around. 

When on a stone, half lettered, without name, 

A thistle emblemed, and these words he found — ■ 

" Sacred to Scotia, and to Scotia's Bard? 

He conned it o'er, its meaning to explain, 

And whisp'ring said, " to whom this great award ? " 

While burning thoughts came o'er his fevered brain. 

The genii touched him, and before he knew, 

The passing clouds were lost in ether light. 

The rising sun in glory rose in view, 

Chasing the visions of this phantom night. 

And as it rose o'er Scotia's mountain isle, 

He waked from all that poesy holds dear, 

To gaze on Bab'lon's tumult, pain, and toil, 

And all life's stern realities severe. 



POEMS. 53 

THE APOSTATE. 

A Fragment. 



I knew him, ere the roots of bitterness 
Had grown to putrid cancer in his soul. 
Then Revelation's light gleamed o'er his mind 
In strange fantastic dreams of future bliss ; 
He saw the dawn, and this was quite enough 
For speculation's visionary claim. 
Precocious, in a day from childhood to 
A man, he grew a giant of his kind ; 
Until his head was in the clouds, and there 
He saw the myst'ries of the aerial world ! 
All knowledge, ere it was revealed, he knew. 
The knotty points in Scripture he could solve, 
By presto touch of talismanic wand, 
And, Patriarch like, had the discerning gift 
To know the ancient seeds of Israel's race. 
The spirits of all men he could discern, 
And oft, through speculation's vain conceit, 
He did interpret, to indignation, 
And raised the fouler passions of a few ; 
While some admired, in sycophantic phrase, 
That made the humbler of the Saints to blush. 



54 HARP OF ZION. 



The Gathering was his constant theme ; for he 
Had dreamed of golden gates, and pearly walls, 
And palaces, and ghostly Saints at ease 
Reclining 'neath the palm-tree's shade at noon. 
And so he left, to seek this fairy land, 
Uncounselledj in his own imaginings. 
But ah ! he thought not of the fiery path 
Where persecution, poverty, and death, 
Await the just, ere they can sing the song 
Of ransomed ones, by suffering perfect made. 

Thus, full of novelty's romance, he found 
The city of the Saints, and with it all 
The stern realities of life. His hope, 
Like morning mist, evaporated quite, 
And with it, all his dreams of phantom bliss 
Which nightly pictured out Elysian fields, 
Woods, lawns, and bowers, and wizard, winding streams, 
By crystal founts, and cool refreshing groves ! 
Amazed beyond description to rehearse* 
He tried to reconcile his blasted hopes, 
When he beheld the toil-worn sons of God 
Rolling the stone of Joseph, pond'rous grown : 
Still disaffection's deadly 'venomed sting 
Withered his schemes, till eveiy sense became 
Corrupt and dead. He neither saw, nor felt, 



POEMS. 



Nor heard, nor savoured of the things of God. 

Then falsehood came, and with it came distrust ; 

Truth error seemed, and lies appeared as Truth ! 

And holy men mere swindling vagabonds ! 

The Temple, once revered, stood folly's shrine ! 

His jaundiced eye suspiciously reversed 

The objects he perceived, or thought he saw. 

The name, that erst gave pleasure's pure delight, 

Rang in his ears a strange, delusive sound. 

Like smould'ring embers still the hatred burned 

In his foul mind, till every passion burst 

Their prisoned fire, and blazed one sulph'rous flame 

Of malice, hotter than the Stygian lake ! 

And so he fell from his gigantic height, 

As we have seen a falling meteor fall 

From out the starry vault, which never had, 

'Mong constellations, a fixed residence, 

Save the combustive fluid of scattered gas, 

That, kindled by the windy current, flashed, 

And falling, seemed a blazing orb of Heaven I 

******** 

Forgotten, nearly twenty moons he'd left 
Nauvoo ! when lo ! in Scotland I beheld 
This strange, outlandish looking man at church 
Among the Saints. I wondered much, I watched 
Him when the congregation sang in praise 



56 HARP OF ZION. 



The songs of Zion ! but his lips moved not. 

And when they knelt, he stood a statue mute 

Amidst the prostrate throng of worshippers. 

His bas'lisk eye in rolling anguish told 

The gnawings of the bitter worm within. 

I met him after service, and he strove 

To imitate the Saints' fond welcome greet, 

But when his hand met mine, — Lord save me, how 

I shook ! Touched with his influence of despair ; 

It ran like lightning o'er my mortal frame, 

Benumbing all the energies of life. 

The Prophet, Saints, and all their labours, were 

His theme of execration and contempt. 

Anon he railed of horrid, murd'rous deeds, 

Of av'rice, cruelty, and heartless fraud, 

Pollution, and a thousand evil ways 

Unheard of, save in his degen'rate heart. 

Apostles ! fiends in human shape, he viewed ; 

The Priesthood ! dupes, or duped. In madness thus 

He raved, and counted o'er his money lost ; — 

The turning period of his selfish soul — 

And like old Shylock, grinned in bitter spite 

To have his " pound of flesh." We parted thus. 

'Twas past all patience, longer to endure. 



POEMS. 



THE ORPHAN. 



'Twas Whitsuntide ! a sad, distressing term 

For many houseless souls, who having left 

Their homes, where they for years had lived, and with 

Misfortune battled. One instance I'll give 

Of -this momentous time : — A widow and 

Her son ; they, unlike many, had enjoyed 

In former years, the sunshine of esteem 

And fortune. Her husband, a merchant, lived 

For years on the resources of his trade, 

In affluence and much respected worth ; 

But long protracted illness, debt, and death, 

Left his lone widow and her son a prey 

To mercenary men. His corse was not 

A day interred, till all they had was seized 

And sold by auction in the market place. 

The landlord shared with those who roughly threw 

Her out of doors, and there she was, poor soul ! 

An outcast on the streets to starve, or die ! 

Thoughtless, the giddy throng did pass her, but, 

To soothe her wounded heart, or pour in oil 

And wine, no good Samaritan came nigh. 

Unknown, and being lady-like, she seemed 

No object to attract the generous soul, 



HARP OF ZION. 



And, high in spirit, could not brook to let 

Her circumstance be known, 'till far too late. 

She wandered in the by-ways to be hid, 

And hide her grief. Her little son was all 

Her earthly treasure, and she loved him much, 

And all his soul was wrapt in her, none else 

He loved, and while she sorely grieved, he tried 

To solace her disconsolate, sad soul ; 

And thus they passed some days and nights among 

The fields, till hunger forced them to return 

Again to that sequestered home they'd left* 

Their neighbours, who had oft been helped by them, 

In heartless apathy, and scorn, now turned 

Away, as if in triumph they rejoiced 

At their sad overthrow. She sought his friends, 

But they, alas, proved cold and heartless too ! 

Forsooth because she'd been the daughter of 

A working man, and married 'gainst their wills. 

Thus spurned, by friends, and neighbours, and by all 

She claimed in life, and with a heart surcharged 

With grief, the cistern burst its golden bowl, 

And a pale corse she fell at her own door ! 

With none to pity, but her helpless boy ! 

And there she lay, exposed to public gaze, 

Till common charity gave aid, to lay 

Her side by side with him who but a month 



POEMS. 



Before, had left this stricken heart to die. 
Her son was taken to the workhouse, and 
A pauper kept, till age and chance would give 
A place of fortune for this orphan child, 
Who, born with golden prospects, now alas ! 
Must battle with fate's sad, reverse decree, 
Unknown, uncaredfor, in a heartless world. 

Time moved along, and like the sun obscured 
In clouds, this scion of a nobler race 
Began his boyish years — subordinate 
To drudge out life, — apprenticed to a trade. 
Industry marked his path, and genius gave 
A happy turn to all he strove to do ! 
Honest and faithful to his trust, he gained 
His master's praise, and when he entered on 
His own account, to be a master man, 
Upon his track burst fortune, and all things 
Flourished beneath his wonder-working power. 
Love touched his heart, and anxious to complete 
His bliss, he found a partner soft and young, 
With whom he joined in wedlock's holy band. 
She was his mother's image, and his soul 
Was wrapt in her. One after one the sprouts 
Of their affection crowned then- happy board, 
And with his fam'ly, grew the requisites 



60 



HARP OF ZION. 



Of social comforts, — sweet competency ! 
Endowed by Heaven with intellectual power, 
He grew a fav'rite 'mong the sons of toil, 
And in that city where he once was left 
An helpless orphan child ! he held a place 
Of honour, rife with blessings for the poor ; 
And with it more, a heart to feel and act 
In unison with all his former sense 
Of poverty and degradation blent. 



BLIND JUSTICE, 

A tale of the Pantheon, 
INSCRIBED TO MRS. ORSON PRATT. 



Blind Justice, once a heathen goddess fair, 
Bore two fine daughters ; but the Heavenly pair 
Were quite the opposite in disposition, 
So runs old mythological tradition. 



The elder daughter was a dark, proud girl, 
With passions, like the wind's inconstant whirl, 



POEMS. 



Sudden, boist'rous, and a voice like thunder ! 
Rent the soft sympathies of soul asunder ! 
Haughty, heartless, cruel, distant, and strange, 
She gained in Heaven, the name of Sylph Revenge. 

The younger was a lovely, pliant child, 
Sweet, innocently affable, and mild ; 
Her voice was harmony, untaught by art ; 
Her form, the graces of a guileless heart ; 
Fair silken ringlets, beaming eyes of love, 
Won her the name of Mercy from above. 

Their mother, when to womanhood they'd grown, 
Called them aside, and blessed them as her own ; 
Then bade them ask which of her dowry they 
Should wish to choose, as her last legacy. 

Proud sullen Revenge, asked her sharp, glitt'ring sword, 
That high and low might tremble at her word, 
That Justice, she, the injured might award, 
And with her balance, equal rights regard. 

Meek, gentle Mercy, with an angel's mind, 
Asked rather like her mother to be blind ! 
That she might not too critically scan 
The wayward faults of thoughtless, erring man. 



62 HARP OF ZION. 



" Ah ! Mercy, child," the loving mother said, 
" Yours is the dower, by which the pure are made 
Recipients of bliss ; man gave the sword, 
Forgiving blindness came from the blest Lord ! 
Man fights for honour, Heaven forgives the wrong, 
And thus, through patience, learns to suffer long." 

Revenge grinned sullen at her sister's praise, 
And left her home to seek for honour's bays 
'Mong sterner sons of unrelenting earth, 
Where death and fury kindled at her breath ; 
And thus she left her peaceful, happy home, 
'Mong fallen spirits, like herself, to roam. 

Where'er she came, the noble and the proud 

Hailed her as Justice' self, in anthems loud; 

And warlike nations fell beneath her sway, 

And men were most extolled, who most could slay ; 

Honour on earth, for virtue was renowned, 

And conquest reigned o'er right in fetters bound. 

Dark years rolled on, and earth lay drenched in gore r 
When peace 'mong men, the gods sought to restore ; 
Then Mercy, missioned earthward, bent her flight, 
And strove to stem her sister's blood-stained might. 
But mankind deemed her mandates empty wind, 



POEMS. 



And laughed to scorn her cowardice of mind, — 
Compared with honour's stem, unflinching claim, 
Engraved in blood upon the car of fame. 

Still Mercy strove till patience ceased to be 
A virtue, and her love no urging plea, 
And scorned by all, rejected, stoned, and driven, 
She sought again, her resting place in Heaven. 

MORAL. 

Let all remember, who this tale may read, 
That transferred goodness is no Heavenly creed, 
That vice, or virtue, in the choice we make 
For good, or ill, will form a Saint, or rake : 
That Heaven-bom goodness seeks all human good, 
Nor rests her claim in spilling human blood, 
That Mercy's plumb should level Justice' line, 
That frailty, erring, may be squared divine. 



64 HARP OF ZION. 



ADDRESS DELIVERED TO THE SAINTS AT 
BURSLEM, STAFFORDSHIRE, 1850. 



All hail ! ye Saints, who love to serve the Lord, 

Who have obeyed the ord'nance of his word, 

Who've felt the ptire, the spirit-stirring flame 

Burn in your bosoms for his servant's name — 

E'en Joseph, our beloved, martyred Seer, 

And Hyrum, whom our souls would still revere ! 

Who held the keys of knowledge to secure 

Earth's blessings for the meek, deserving poor. 

Yes, Brethren, though this canting world should frown, 

These men of God shall wear the martyr's crown ! 

And you, their followers, shall be inspired 

To rise like them, where glory is acquired ; — 

Where thrones, dominions, powers of endless life, 

Shall crown the suffering Saints with honours rife. 

! what a glorious prospect of release, 
When Christ shall reign a thousand years in peace,- 
To live in Zion, where no hostile band 
Shall rob, or mob, or murder, at command ! 
When Saints shall turn their spears to pruning hooks, 
And burn their old sectarian sermon books, 



POEMS. 



Where groaning thieves, and praying rogues, no more 
Shall do in credit, what the damned abhor. 

This night, my friends, let love our hearts unite, 
And let that love our vile opposers smite, 
Till their black hearts in silent anguish tell 
Their mock-made virtue's but the spleen of hell ; 
And while we seek to keep the ancient path, 
Fear not their scorn, their int'rest, nor their wrath ; 
The day of their earned retribution's near, 
Why should you then the power of demons fear 
In human form, who yet will fawning greet, 
And crave your favour, bending at your feet? 
Continue then, united as one man, 
And do for all the greatest good you can ! 
Uphold the men whom God hath sent with Truth, 
And you shall flourish in immortal youth : 
To you they're as God ; their instructions hear, 
Their blessings seek, their curse still learn to fear ; 
Obey then* mandates, and posterity 
Shall bless your names through all eternity. 

And oh ! my friends, in love, protect your wives ; 
Learn to govern, and peace will crown your lives. 
And sisters, mark what your fond husbands say, 
And children will your precepts all obey. 



HARP OF ZION. 



My Sisters, who still look for Hymen's bliss, 

Deal shyly with your sweethearts when they kiss ; 

As kissing is the key of Gentile love, 

Still watch their fondness, lest they faithless prove : 

Reserve that favour 'till the knot is tied, 

Then love with kissing will be well allied. 



Now drink your bev'rage, but mind 'tis not hot, 
Lest you break Wisdom's laws, and bum your throat ; 
Refrain from puffing, lest your breath offend ; 
Wash clean your face, and to your hair attend ; 
And then the world will say you're changed indeed, 
Since you've obeyed and kept the " Mormon" creed ! 



POEMS. (37 



FAREWELL. 



Written and read to the Saints in Worcester, at parting, in December, 1851. 



In this dark world, — where changes dim the scene 
From rough to smooth, from fear to hope serene, 
From sweet to gall, from pleasure to despair, 
From health to sickness, folly, want, and care — 
No change so sad, no words can truly tell 
The mind's reluctance at the thought " Farewell." 

Tis best, to meet misfortune in the face, 
And dare its frownings with a manly grace ; 
To cheer the downcast, and the outcast own ; 
To bless our friends for by-past favours shown. 
But ah! what feelings our fond bosoms swell, 
When fortune sep'rates with a long " Farewell." 

Friends ! no — for that's by far too mean a word, 
And can't express what Saintship would record, 
Where kindred souls are bound by other ties 
Than earthly passions at their parting sighs — 
It binds remembrance with a magic spell, 
And chokes the utt'rance to express " Farewell." 



68 HARP OF ZION. 



My Brethren dear! 'twas with a feeling heart 
I strove to bind yon never more to part ; 
Though now we sever, yet a little while 
Well meet again, and Heaven shall o'er us smile, 
Where none shall come to Zion's mountain dell 
To mar our peace, or bid us say " Farewell/' 

Three summers' suns have o'er us passed away, 
Since first, a stranger, here I bent my way, 
Where few heard of, or felt th' inspiring flame, 
To love each other in Jehovah's name, 
Though many now in testimony tell 
How they can bid old Babylon "Farewell." 

To part for ever ! this can never be, 
While one ennobling spirit makes us free 
To think, and act, by Heaven's inspiring law, 
And from its source all consolation draw ; 
This, this alone, in Heaven, Earth, or Hell, 
Will still forbid the Saints to say " Farewell" 



POEMS. 



FEAR. 

A Fragment 



There is a meaning in some words that few 

Completely understand ; and fear is one. 

Indeed, 'twere well if none its terrors knew, 

For then by it none would e'er be undone. 

Fear is the spirit of remorse, yet true, 

The cause, deterring evil, ere begun. 

'Tis good and bad, a virtue and a vice, 

That few could want, — that fewer make their choice. 

We've heard of men, by its impressive shock, 

Stunned lifeless where they stood ; and of one too 

Swung o'er a precipice, or sea-girt rock, 

On eagle-nesting, (if the tale be true); 

The vulture came ; the person aimed a stroke, 

And missed his prey, and cut the tow near through ; 

His comrades pulled him to the top, when lo ! 

His jetty locks were turned as white as snow. 

Reverse it comes at times, with such a thump, 
That men, who, other times, were quite insane, 
Have proven firm, courageous, wise, and prompt, 
As if they had the best developed brain. 



HARP OF ZION. 



Although phrenologists have no such bump, 
Yet, caution answers for it, they maintain ; 
While some call this but mere apology 
For better proof to prove bumpology. 

Think for a moment, how the mind's disease 
Affects the culprit in the judgment hall ; 
He seems courageous, yet, how ill at ease, 
When, through the grating in the prison wall, 
The apparatus for his death he sees, 
Strange, unexpected feelings, him appal, 
Than ere remorse had burst the awful spell 
Of daring suffering, in his gloomy cell. 

Full fast the blood comes rushing from the heart ; 
Anon it ebbs, as if no life were there ; 
Cold perspiration's frantic flush imparts 
The trembling attitude of wild despair— 
The last, the long farewell, — the sudden start,— 
The falt'ring tongue, — the vacant eyes that glare,- 
But tell too true a tale, when death is near, 
What is the sad, o'erwhelming power of fear. 



POEMS. 



REFLECTIONS ON A BANK NOTE. 



Money makes the man, the want of it the fellow, 
The rest is all but leather and prunello — Anon. 



Thou representative of something great, 
What wert thou in thine unconverted state ? 
Derived from lint, stalks, or, as like may be, 
The downy castings of the cotton tree ! 
Perchance the lowly silkworm's death-shroud gave 
The silky texture which thou seem'st to have ; 
Spun into yarn — then woven into cloth — 
Then worn — then cast away as what we loathe ; 
And after mingling with — decomposition ! 
Mark the reverse of this — thy strange transition — 
Snatched from the dunghill by the ragman's hand ; 
Again remodelled as thou now dost stand ; 
Invested with the honour of a name, — 
The painted mockery of a righteous claim. 
Heaven bless us ! and is this our riches ! 
The loathsome flummery of rags from wretches ! 
For such as thee I've seen life's forfeit given — 
The miser's soul lose all its hopes of Heaven ; 
The poor despised, and wealthier ones made poor 
From failures of thy sponsors — insecure ! 
Yes, yes, from thee, thou fragment of a shirt ! 



72 HARP OF ZION. 



Or the torn tatters of some mantle's skirt : 

So subject to be lost, consumed by fire, 

Dissolved with water, or defaced with mire, 

Thy weakly form, how liable to tear, 

How soon thou'rt worn, e'en with the greatest care ; 

But who— vain ghost of currency — pray, who 

Gave thee such value, as to stand in lieu 

Of labour ? — tell me, for I wish to know 

Who thy great sponsor is, that I may go 

-Ik 

Directly to the source whence thou dost flow, 

And there examine what thy motive is 

For circulation — ha ! interest ! ! 'Tis 

Individual selfishness makes mankind sweat 

To help some lordling of the soil to meet 

Extravagance ! forsooth, to make his land 

(As if it did not yield enough) demand 

A double — treble int'rest by the law, 

To palm thee, tiny thing ! that he may draw 

With seeming grace, and usury provoking, 

First for his land, and then for paper-broking. 

And is this all, vain thing ! thou canst produce 

To make thee so respected for abuse — 

The trust-deed of a promissory pay, 

That may go down for ever in one day ! 

Ha, ha, bank note ; when all thy faults are told, 

Thou'rt nothing to the yellow, glittering gold ! ! 



POEMS. 73 



RECKEATION. 

A Fable. 



A little sportive boy one day 

Espied a butterfly at play 

Among the garden flow'rets fair, 

Fluttering about in wanton air, 

Sipping the sweets from every flower, 

O'er lawn and rosy belted bower. 

Charmed with its varied coloured hue, 

The urchin quickly did pursue, 

Till on a honey-suckle bloom, 

He dashed it rudely with his thumb, 

And crushed its little, tiny frame, 

Which caused it thus in death t' exclaim — 

" Ah, naughty boy, why be so rude 1 

Why thus, so wickedly intrude ? 

Why be so anxious to obtain 

What spoils your sport, and gives me pain ? 

Why should you do such cruel things, 

To crush my little tiny wings, 

Which, dazzling, lured your lustful eye, 

And gained, could never gratify ? 

Go youth," it said, " but, ere you go, 

Learn this from my sad overthrow, — 

Though beauty tempt your rash desire 



HARP OF ZION. 



To kill what folly did admire ; 
Know, vanity, by lust possessed, 
Is death, and short-lived at the best ; 
But love, that is with bliss replete, 
Seeks to obtain, and careful keep 
Those objects we would wish to have; 
And to preserve, admire, and save, 
Guarding them with an angel's care, 
From every foul, malignant snare." 

So ended, — thus, the insect died ! 
While the astonished urchin cried — 
" live ! live ! forgive the crime, 
The like again shall ne'er be mine." 
But tears of deep repentance shed, 
Could not bring back its life now fled. 



POEMS. 75 \ 



THERE IS SOMETHING AT HAND. 



There's a voice in the valleys, the mountains, and floods, 
And a rustling and wailing are heard in the woods ; 
The greensward and foliage fall seared in the leaf, 
And the gay flowers, untimely, are drooping in grief! 
For the Angel of Death ! pours his curse o'er the land, 
And the people amazed cry — " There's something at hand 11 / 

There's a sound in the wind, in the Monsoon, and squall, 

And its bello wings echo the Avalanche's fall ; 

The ocean laughs loud, while in tempest arrayed, 

And the lightnings gleam bright o'er the wreck she has 

made ; 
Yet they know not the cause of the corse-covered strand, 
But despairingly cry — " Surely something's at hand" 7 

There are spots in the sun, as the prophets foretold, 
And the pale moon looks sad on the earth growing old ; 
For a harsh sound is heard in her bowels' loud groan, 
While her volcanic cough vomits fire in her moan — 
Yet though frailty and age tell her last running sand, 
Ah ! the gay world perceives not this "Something at hand "/ 

There's a spectre abroad ! like the wind's airy breeze, 
That cometh to all, yet no mortal eye sees ; 



76 HARP OF ZION. 



In the haunts of the wretched its trophies are seen, 
And death strews its pathway where'er it hath been ; 
Though pestilence rages, they can't understand, 
But, terror-struck^ cry — " Surely something's at hand 'V 

There's invention and change, with Priest, Artist, and Sage; 
From good, better, to best ! stamps the toil of the age ; 
And their mountebank skill rings the change into gold, 
And their gold becomes tin, as new changes unfold : 
Thus presto goes on, touched by Mammon's sly wand ! 
And the jugglers, delighted, cry — "Something's at hand"! 

There's wealth in abundance, and misery in store ! 
There is wisdom, and learning, and ignorance more ; 
There is everything better ! and everything worse ! 
More refinement, and morals ; yet more of the curse — 
War ! Eeligion ! and slav'ry, the world now command, 
And Bab'lon, in wonder, cries — " Something's at hand "/ 

But what is this " Something " all fear and adore ? 
That so strangely now " casteth its shadows before," 
Which the learned, and illiterate, look for to come : 
Be't for good, or for bad? abroad, or at home? 
'Tis this wonderful truth — tidings awfully grand ! 
That God's time to reign on the earth is at hand! 



POEMS. 77 



ZION. 



Prepare, prepare, ye Saints of the Most High, 
Behold the Bridegroom standeth at the door ; 

The signs declared, announce his coming nigh, 

When grief and pain shall vex your souls no more, 

. But joyful rest, and nature's boundless store, 
Shall bless the sunshine of a thousand years, 

Where friendship ne'er betrays the love it bore, 
Nor dims faith's tranquil face with brimful tears, 
Nor clouds our future prospects with alarming fears. 

Beyond the cloud capped mountains far away, 
The Priesthood of God's testimony's borne 

To fairer climes of mild pacific ray, 

Where peaceful rest shall crown the sorrow- worn 

With triple-portioned love for by-gone scorn. 
Nursed by the care of Heaven's mighty power, 

The infant Church will rise like sunny morn, 
From east to west the glowing light shall soar, 
Till dark chaotic night, its brightness melts before ! 

From far the gath'ring tribes shall flocking come, 
Like swift-winged messengers out o'er the sea, 

To join the reapers' happy harvest-home, 
With everlasting songs of Heavenly glee. 



78 HARP OF ZION. 



On Zion's mount a father's joy will be 

To see his seed, and claim them for his own ; 

A long, long patriarchal pedigree, 

Kestoredby Gospel light, before unknown 
To this dark world, where sin's vast ruin reigned 
alone. 

Hail glorious day ! when gath'ring Saints command 
The joint-stock riches of a hundred isles, 

And equal-balanced justice bless the land 

Where clear-eyed virtue o'er industry smiles ; 

And purest joys emparadise the toils 
Of woe-worn pilgrims in the trying day, 

Who've borne the scorn 'mid deep alluring wiles, 
And deadly venomed, dark apostacy, 
To bring again Messiah's universal sway ! 

Prepare the royal robes, ye Saintly throng ; 

The marriage day of Heavenly nuptials, near, 
When thefair bride, and festive banquet song, 

Shall crown the triumphs of a higher sphere, 
While ransomed children, palms of vict'ry wear, 

Patriarchs, Prophets, martyred Saints, and Kings, 
Around the throne in homage deep, revere 

The mighty God, who thus Salvation brings, 
And all confess Him, Lord o'er all created things ! 



POEMS. 



LINES WRITTEN TO ELDER ELI B. KELSEY 



On his return to America. 



Farewell ! my dearest Kelsey, 

To fairer climes thou'lt roam, 
To seek for thy beloved wife 

A happy, mountain home. 
Thy worth, reward shall merit, 

For Zion's land I see, 
Thy birthright to inherit, 

Is there prepared for thee. 

Thou wert my loved preceptor, 

With others I could name, 
Who taught me first to gather 

A wreath of endless fame. 
Thy track I mean to travel, 

Though thorny it may be, 
Through storms and tempest scowling, 

Still, I shall follow thee. 



And when the sea has parted 
Our intercourse a while, 

I'll not repine, deserted, 

Though weary worn with toil. 



HARP OF ZION. 



For still thy sun shall gladden, 
Its rise and set we'll see ; 

If ought thy heart should sadden, 
There's one remembers thee. 

When moonlight gilds the mountains 

In silv'ry, fairy light. 
Or shades the lakes and fountains 

In cloudless beauty bright, 
Mine eye shall watch its motion, 

And thou its course shalt see ; 
Then with heartfelt devotion, 

Exchange a prayer with me ! 

Should old friends be enquiring 

How Lyon moves along, 
Oh ! tell them he's desiring 

To join their happy throng. 
Greet brother Franklin with a kiss, 

Give sister Kelsey three, 
And Shields, M'Laws, and others, 

My love eternally ! 

Then haste dear Brother back again 

To Scotland's heath and hill ; 
Her sons will greet thee welcome, 
Her daughters with good will. 



POEMS. 



To gather home's their chief delight, 

They're longing to be free, 
Then sail, and steam, with eagle flight, 

We all shall pray for thee. 



LINES TO MKS. ELI B. KELSEY. 



Dear Sister, though unknown to thee, 

In this far distant land, 
Still I have seen thy better half, 

And grasped his feeling hand. 
Yes, I have heard his manly voice 

Pure words of wisdom speak ; 
And, like that love thou hast for him, 

I've kissed his glowing cheek ! 

And I have watched his sick-worn eye, 
His throbbing pulse I've pressed, 

When no kind wife could hear the sigh 
That swelled his heaving breast. 



HARP OF ZION. 



And with a brother's warmest love, 

He's blest my kind regard, 
And I have thought on thee and thine, 

When I such bliss have shared. 

In love, or joy, or sorrow's tears, 
When light or darkness came, 

I felt in part, his weal or woe, 
His honour or his shame. 

And now, my sister, am not I 
Thy brother and thy friend, 

By ties more dear than flesh and blood- 
Ties that shall never end. 

One kindred seed of Joseph's loins, 

Though scattered o'er the earth, 
One offspring of a holy race, 

Of kingly, Heavenly birth. 
Though now humility has drawn 

Its curtain o'er the past, 
Our kindred spirits still do feel 

That love that e'er shall last. 

Thus sister, fondly would I claim 
Eelationship with thee, 



POEMS. 



And hold sweet intercourse, and speak 

In figures o'er the sea ! 
For well I ween in sunny bowers 

We spent the jocund hours, 
Ere time and distance parted friends 

In this dull world of ours. 

Then till we meet, accept my love, 

For love shall never die ; 
No time nor change can mar its course. 

Here, or beyond the sky. 
Then oh ! accept this token frail, 

That faintly doth impart 
The feelings of a brother's love, 

Warm gushing from the heart. 



HARP OF ZION. 



FAKEWELL ECHO. 
INSCRIBED TO ELDER JOHN BANKS. 



Farewell, beloved brother Banks, farewell ; 
Oh ! may the parting echo in the distance tell 
How much among the Saints I love to dwell. 
Say, brother, say, shall we e'er meet again ? 
Echo — If faithful you remain I 

Thrice with thy presence I have favoured been, 
And these, like Angels' visits, " far between." 
Where will the fourth be ? and what like the scene ? 
Say, brother, say, where my soul loves the best ? 
Echo— Far, far in the West ! 

And will my brethren whom I love be there ? 
Eoss, Cook, and Clinton, and my sisters fair ? 
And will the poet their best blessings share ? 
Say, brother, will they still remember Lyon ? 
Echo — Yes, yes in Zion ! 

And will the servants of the Lord retain 
The ruling power, as kings and priests, to reign 
Till earth becomes a Paradise again ? 
Say, where will persecutors be, pray tell ? 
Echo — Alas ! in hell I 



POEMS. 



Come, brother come, these mystic thoughts reply, 
Come, give me courage, ere you leave, that I 
May gain a crown where grief will ne'er come nigh ; 
Say, will the Saints again be ever driven ? 
Echo— Never by Heaven ! 

Oh glorious parting, worth ten thousand tears ! 
What's hope deferred, with all life's anxious fears ? 
To live with men renowned, a thousand years ! 
What's persecution, and a world's dark frown ? 
Echo — An endless life and crown ! 

Go, wizard echo, with thy mystic sound, 
O'er land and sea, to earth's remotest bound ; 
Tell where the Saints a resting place have found ; 
Say, there in peace the Saints unmoved shall dwell, 
Echo — Yes, Lyon, yes ; farewell, farewell ! 



86 HARP OF ZION. 



INSCRIBED TO ELDER J. W. CUMMINGS, 

President of the Sheffield Conference, in 1850. 

Farewell, dear friends, we now must part, 

But let this record tell 
How we have lived, and laboured hard 

To save a world from hell. 
Amid the sneers, and scoffs, and fears, 

Of hireling priests and press, 
Still we have found our standing ground, 

And made their numbers less. 

Though now from you I must away, 

Another one shall come, 
Whose spirit-stirring teachings may 

Record a larger sum ! 
Though conscious I have done my best, 

A greater good may he, 
And while your name shall rise in fame, 

Your works shall gladden me.' 

Be constant, prayerful, thoughtful, wise ; 

Let love your actions guide ; 
Be sympathising, nor despise 

The darkened sinner's pride. 



POEMS. 



Truth found us all in misery's thrall, 

Thick darkness, and dismay, 
'Twas Gospel light infused new sight, 

To see this glorious day ! 

Then boldly meet the foe of man, 

Nor fear the tyrant's frown ! 
The thoughtful, they shall understand, 

The wicked be put down. 
While vengeance lowers, and death devours, 

For God has said they should! 
'Mong fallen men be valiant then 

To save the truly good. 

Farewell ! for ever I'll not say ; 

I know we yet shall meet,— 
Perhaps in Zion, far away ; 

In Heaven, or there, we'll greet. 
It matters not where'er our lot 

Or destiny be cast, — 
There's one thing sure, the meek and pure 

Will reign with Christ at last. 



HARP OF ZION. 



LINES WRITTEN ON THE DEPARTURE OE 

MR. JOHN BROMLEY AND FAMILY, 

For Council Bluffs, North America. 



And must we part ? 'tis like a dream 
Of thee, but half before me, 
That thou art going, till a gleam 
Of truthfulness comes o'er me. 
When I perceive the busy turn 
Of each one in thy dwelling, 
It makes my heart with feelings burn, 
Beyond the power of telling. 

When I recall the by-past days, 
At Camp where first I met ye, 
Strange in our customs, manners, ways, 
E'en then ye did respect me. 
And better far, the Truth you heard, 
Which then in friendship bound us 
With more than friendship's kind regard, 
And since has ever found us. 



And now in love, we in the same 

Do sep'rate far asunder, 

Which proves this Gospel and its name 



POEMS. 



A marv'llous work and wonder. 
Yet, wondrous far, we'll meet again 
Where fond hearts ne'er shall sever, 
And there on earth with Christ well reign, 
Nor parted be for ever. 

Though glad to meet, and sad to part, — 

And parting grief is tender ! 

Now anguish wrings the throbbing heart ; 

To joy 'twill then surrender ! 

For sorrow now, we'll have delight, 

For present loss, then splendour, 

In thrones and kingdoms, power and might, 

And all celestial grandeur. 



90 HARP OF ZION. 



ADDRESS TO 'FOKTY-NINE. 



Farewell to thee, old 'Forty-nine, 

Thy annals brief will tell 
The good and evil thou hast brought 

Where feuds and discord dwell ; 
For kings and thrones have passed away ; 

No more their glory shines, 
Save thy dark date, to mark the day 

It died in 'Forty-nine ! 

And many a fond, endearing tie — 

'Mong friends has parted been, 
By pestilence and poverty, 

Since thy bleak face was seen ! 
And darker still Time's records will 

Unveil the world's decline, 
Till coming fate past woes relates, 

E'en worse than 'Forty-nine. 

In thee, the speculator's mart 

In railway scrip has drained 
The purse and peace of many a heart, 

By av'rice unrestrained ! 
And now their wealth and labour lost 

On each unfinished " Line " — 



POEMS. 91 



Eeveal the goose-chase and the ghost 
Of Eighteen Forty-nine ! 

In thee old piety, impure, 

In sacerdotal stole ! 
Comes in the vestments of a w — re, 

To cheat th' unwary soul. 
Six hundred names her w — reship claims, 

A motley coloured shrine, 
To please the Votaries of the beast, 

In Pope-less (!) 'Forty-nine. 

And still thy song is loud and long, 

Of coming good to see ! 
While the distressed with want oppressed, 

Find no relief in thee. 
Ah ! world of woe ! thine overthrow, 

The Prophets all divine — 
And yet the signs thou dost not know, 

So marked in 'Forty-nine. 

Far in the mountains of the west, 

A gathering kingdom grows, 
While hireling Priests and venal press 

That kingdom all oppose ! 
Yet still its gathering thousands come, 



92 HARP OF ZION. 



With joy their hearts incline 
To join their friends in Zion's home, 
In Eighteen Forty-nine. 

Farewell ! but ere we part, one word, 

And then a last adieu — 
Tell Eighteen-fifty when he comes, 

To ask advice from you ; 
Say what you've seen, and heard, and known, 

From these remarks of mine, 
That 'Fifty may have this to say, 

I've learn'd from 'Forty-nine ! 



POEMS. 93 



RETALIATION. 
INSCRIBED TO FRANKLIN D. RICHARDS, 

One of the Twelve Apostles. 



When Jesus appeared as the Saviour of men ! 
His back to the smiters, for Truth, gave he then ; 
That redemption and mercy to sinners might flow ; 
Ah ! then all his work was — a hiss for a blow. 

And onward his followers shared the same fate, 
While the spirit of Truth stemmed a world of hate : 
Just so was it then, and will ever be so, 
While falsehood can utter, — a hiss for a blow. 

But when he returns in his glory to reign ! 
No more shall he suffer the scoffer's disdain : 
Then the black-hearted, hypocrite sinners shall know, 
There's no longer for them — a hiss for a blow. 

Hark ! a voice from on high, saying, "Oh Lord, how long," 
And on earth a loud cry of wailing and wrong ; 
For the land's full of robbery, violence, and woe, 
And the causers cry on — give a hiss for a blow. 



94 HARP OF ZION. 



Yet, there is a day when in wrath he'll devour, 
And thrash them to dust with the rod of his power ; 
Who now cry " Lord, Lord " ! in tones moui*nfully low, 
And cheat, lie, and preach give — a kiss for a blow. 

If slander and falsehood were axioms of bliss, 

And a growl for a scowl, and a kick for a kiss. 

Then sin, in its pure native colours would glow, 

And we'd laugh when 'twas said, give- — a kiss for a blow. 

But, alas, for the motto, " put evil for good," 
To say well, and do ill, is now understood ; 
With words sweet and oily, and hearts cold as snow, 
The wicked can trump forth— a kiss for a blow. 



POEMS. 



FORGIVENESS. 



When I against the Lord transgress, 

And none but He can know my secret sin, 
Then I'll repent, and strive His love to win, 
By doing all that I've forgot to do, 
And more devoutly righteousness pursue ; 

Then shall I have forgiveness. 

And should my folly cause distress 

To father, mother, sister, brother, friend ; 
I'll run with speed, confess to each, and mend 
The sinful breach by new obedience ; 
All loss restoring, through the vile offence ; 

Then shall I have forgiveness. 

Should love demand that I confess 
For open sin a public sense of grief, 
I'll humbly yield, if this should bring relief ; 
No matter w r hat may be the penance, still 
I'll strive the law of trespass to fulfil, 

To gain from all, forgiveness. 

Then shall my brethren love, and bless 
The penitent with heartfelt joy again, 



HARP OF ZION. 



While the recording Angels sound the strain 
Through brighter spheres — the sinner is forgiven, 
And mercy, radiant with the smile of Heaven, 
Exults in God's forgiveness. 



THE BOY'S QUESTIONS, 



" Tell me, dear mother, what you mean 

When speaking of the sun. 
You say from it we've light, and heat, 

Where'er his influence runs ! 
And yet, I've seen the highest hills 

Capped with the glist'ning snow 
In summer months, when scorching heat * 

Burned all the grass below ! 

" And then beyond this atmosphere, 

You say 'tis dark as night ! 
If so, whence all this heat below ? 

How comes this streaming light ? 



POEMS. G7 



Why does the sun not melt away 
The snow on mountains high ? 

I wonder how 'tis dark above, 
And cold so near the sky ! 

" Again, you've said yon glitt'ring stars 

Are worlds more large in size 
Than this great globe, when I have seen 

Them dart from out the skies ! 
Yet, long before I w r ent to school, 

Or such great wonders knew, 
I've thought them holes, by Angels made, 

To peep at mortals through. 

" And then, you say this world goes round 

Each day and night, 'tis so 
That what is now above our heads, 

In twelve horns is below ; 
And yet, you say that Heaven's above, 

Where all the good folks dwell. 
May they not have a world like ours, 

And move about as well ? 

" And mother, I have heard you say 

That God is every- where ! 
And yet, I've never seen His form ; 



HARP OF ZION. 



Why, mother, how you stare ! 
Does not His all-creative power 

Declare His fame abroad, 
But, mother, though those works are great, 

Is not their Author God ? 

" And Parson Gripp says hell is deep ! 

Yea bottomless and wide ! 
Will those who fall into that pit 

Ne'er reach the other side ? 
Ah ! mother, now you seem to grieve ; 

Why do you look so sad ? 
Tell me, dear mother, if you please, 

Are these thoughts very bad ? " 

" Ah ! foolish child," the mother said, 

" Why speak you so unwise ? 
'Tis not for us to know such things ; 

Your thoughts, me quite surprise ; 
It is profane to think of God, 

When none can search him out : 
Know'st thou not child, we should believe ; 

Not question, far less, doubt. 

" 'Tis wrong to speak of Heaven or Hell, 
Or stars, or heat, or light, 



POEMS. 99 



And question their existence so ; 

You put me in a fright. 
But I will pray the Lord for thee, 

That thou may'st be forgiven ! 
Nor pry beyond what is revealed, 

But walk by faith to Heaven." 



AXIOMS. 



Saint Paul of old, has somewhere said, 

That votaries at Jesus' shrine 
Should study maxims Truth has laid, 
By which they may be purer made, 
And rise to be like God, Divine ! 

Love is the first, by which they rise 

Above the baser passion, hate ; 
By it they meaner things despise, 
And triumph o'er the selfish wise, 
Subdue themselves, and Truth elate. 

Their joy's the fruit of social good, 
That burns with feelings of the blest ; 



100 HARP OF ZION. 



It gives the mind a kindly mood, 
And soothes the savage and the rude. 
And points to all — a future rest. 

And like the calm of summer's morn, 
Sweet peace serenely bears control ; 
Though of all worldly honours shorn, 
It never leaves the heart forlorn ! 
But reigns benignly o'er the soul. 

The baser thought, the mean intent, 

Which frown to see another's good, 
Which give weak failing, broad extent, 
And make our virtues evil meant ; 

Where love is, these can ne'er intrude. 

Let Saints inspired with Heaven-born love, 

Forgive as they would be forgiven, 
That peace, and joy, may ever prove 
The fruit in them, that is above, 
To make this earth, a Heaven ! 



POEMS. 101 



BLESSING FOU THE DEAD. 



How happy the Saints who are faithful and true, 
Who have kept their first love, and on earth do renew 
The eov'nants they've made in the regions above, 
And still prove their faith by their labours of love. 
They'll rejoice evermore in the Kingdom of God, 
And have for reward, an eternal abode ! 



Rejoice all ye dead who the Truth have not heard ; 
In the spirit you'll learn all the power of His word, 
And the vast prison-house shall be opened for you, 
When you've paid the last mite for your sins justly due. 
In the mansions of peace, for the righteous prepared, 
You'll live in the joys of eternal reward ! 

Be vigilant then, all ye faithful, to earn 
What the dead are so anxiously waiting to learn, 
Your trials, and patience, and sufferings, and loss, 
Shall be gain in the end, if you bear off the cross, 
And those who are saved, shall extol God, the giver, 
And shine like the stars, in His kingdom for ever. 



102 HARP OF ZION. 



DISEASE. 



fell disease ! thou mortal scourge of man, 
That fires the blood, or chills it cold as death. 
Who ever saw thee ? none ! and yet, how wan 
Thou mak'st thy victim, as he pants for breath, 
Whilst struggling 'neath thy deadly venomed dart. 
With more than mortal patience 'neath thy smart, 



Who ever touched thee ? none ! and yet thou'rt real, 
More certain than the sword's keen edge, or ball, 
Or poisoned arrow, tipped with barbed steel : 
No giant's prowess proves a surer fall, — 
Yet, felt, unseen, thou com'st our mortal foe ; 
Assassin-like, thou strik'st the deadly blow. 

Who ever heard thee ? none ! and yet the dumb 

Oft shriek, and shiver 'neath thy killing grasp, 

Whilst every faculty thou dost benumb* 

And tear'st the flesh as with a rough toothed rasp ; 

Till every nerve and sinew have a voice, 

And cry, " foul murder," with stentorian noise. 

Whoever tasted thy infernal fume 

That boils the blood till oozing out each pore 



POEMS. 103 



Where'er thou spread'st thy pestilential gloom- 
There cholera, typhus, and a hundred more 
Diseases, putrify the atmosphere, 
Till life becomes a load too hard to bear ? 

No sympathy thou hast for old or young ! 
The mew'ling infant, and the hoary sage, 
Alike fall prostrate 'neath thy influence, stung ; 
Nor grief, nor pity can thy wrath assuage ; 
A thousand ties of fond, paternal care 
Thou'st rent asunder, parent of despair. 

Alas ! disease ! ah ! wherefore thus allowed 
To wreak thy vengeance on the human race ? 
The good and bad, before thee all have bowed, 
And borne thy burdens with a hopeful grace, 
As if kind Heaven had sent thee as a boon, 
To cloud the day of life ere it be noon. 

Offspring of sin ! foul parent of decease, 
Though painful, yet a stimulant to good, 
To rectify the mind, that might through ease 
Have fallen, didst thou not fiercely intrude ; 
A scourge, a penalty, a painful rod, 
Kept for the wicked in the hand of God. 



104 HARP OF ZION. 



PROFLIGACY. 



How passing strange, yet true, that man so great, 
So nobly gifted, should himself demean 
To love those things which do inebriate, 
And lead to acts, disgusting and obscene ; 
And fall beneath that which but elevates 
An hour to passion's momentary spleen — 
His own remorse, the world's opprobrium, 
By using gin, tobacco, opium ! 

See yonder wretch ! just hurled on the street ; 
His ragged form and sunken eye express 
How much his patrons do his company greet 
When he has squandered by his mad excess, 
All he possessed, and cannot now well meet 
Their just demands ! not that they love him less, 
But that they love his money rather more ! 
Now, having none, they've kicked him from their door. 

If reason were of no essential use, 
By which our appetites could be denied, — 
Then, thinking mortals well might find excuse 
For all that is improperly applied ; 



POEMS. 105 



But, to ingulph what animals refuse, 
Seems strange in beings nobly Deified 
To know both good and ill, yet reckless drink 
Damnation, till their reason cannot think. 

Ah ! cursed world, to license hells t' ensnare 
The giddy passions of a nobler race — 
Who, wrong directed, might have been aware 
If better taught — thy damning sad disgrace ; 
But mock religion, with her blotted glare, 
Sanctions thy usage with impudent face, 
And gives the State her prayers and approbation 
To license men to live by degradation ! 



HARP OF ZION. 



ODE TO MORN. 



The night ! the night ! the dark, dull night, 

Is gliding fast away ; 
Sweetly the breath of infant morn, 

Wafts on its wings fair day. 
See ! see ! the rays with pressing might, 

Now grey, now blue, now lost in white, 
Far, far, o'er hill and sea are borne : 

Glad life-inspiring light of morn ! 

The sun ! the sun ! in golden hues, 

Shame-faced peeps o'er the lawn, 
As if he fain would say, " excuse 

My long protracted dawn." 
Hear ! hear ! from nature's varied throng, 

The low, the bleat, the warbler's song ; 
Sea, mountain, sky, stream, oak, and thorn, 

Salute, and welcome in, the morn ! 



Listen ! listen ! does nature weep ? 

Softly the dew-drops fall ; 
They're tears of joy, that night would keep 

To deck her gloomy pall. 



POEMS. 



But mom ! bright mom ! with glad'ning ray, 
Comes forth to wipe those tears away, 

And cheer those drooping buds forlorn, 
Fanned by the sunny breeze of morn ! 

The star ! the star ! the morning star, 

Is lost in ether light, 
And hope ! bright hope ! shines from afar 

Through dreamy, cheerless night. 
The hollow voice, the glist'ning eye, 

Whisper thy welcome with a sigh, 
While from the couch all weary worn, 

Spring hopes effulgent as the morn ! 

Flap ! flap ! on downy pinions grey ; 

Hark ! chanticleer has drawn 
His shrill-toned notes to wake the day, 

And usher in the dawn. 
The warbling songsters' matin sound, 

And busy hammers' clanking bound, 
Proclaim, though labour weary-worn, 

Refreshed with rest, salutes the morn ! 



108 HARP OF ZION. 



WATER. 

An Ode. 



Water ! blest boon ; great gift of God to man ! 

Less thought of than the least of all bestowed. 

Exhilarating force of other laws, 

To thee we owe earth's fructifying power ; 

Like God's own spirit, thou dost seem to be 

In nature all that is the germ of life 

Innate — that moves, or grows, or thinks, above, 

Below, in nature's vast laboratory. 

Thou mighty, Godlike, analyzing power ! 
Thy motion far surpasseth all of strength. 
Through granite rock alike in marble mines 
Thou wearest out a channel for thyself, 
And makest streams and subterranean floods, 
Then risest from thy hidden source to bless 
The arid wastes, and fertilize, unknown, 
The barren desert soil with inland seas. 

Strange that thy 'vaporating, clammy sweat, 
In misty oozings from the stagnant lake, 
Hath murmured in thousand crystal rills, 
Or swept Niag'ra's thund'ring, foamy steep, 



POEMS. 109 



Or washed the cloud-capped Himalays, revered 
For healing virtues where the Gauges flow — 
Or spouted through the nostrils of a whale, 
Or soared aloft far on the gusty wind. 

And still thy wonders grow, as search pursues 
The heated influence of thy giant strength : 
Alike romantic in the letter-press, 
Aiding the progress of intelligence ! 
Or in the locomotive, railway power, 
Whizzing along, as if by magic driven, 
Through sea, or land, and all by art combined — 
By fire dissolved, producing force — confined ! 

Transcendent blessing ! yet, tremendous curse ! 
Thine overflowings tell an awful tale, 
When erst Heaven's windows opened, and all 
The fountains of the deep were broken up. 
Though now in golden lines of mercy drawn, 
When dark'ning clouds proclaim the coming storm, 
Thou bringest tidings of Almighty grace, 
Pencilled in the rainbow's glowing hues ! 

Transparent copy of immortal mind ! 
Thy varied hues, responsive to the light's 
Reflection, and the frigid cold — alike 



110 



HARP OF ZION. 



The harlequin of colour, shape, or clime ; 
At times the dew-drop, on the opening flower, 
Or freezing snow-sleet, glaced in feath'ry flakes, 
Or ice-bound, like the adamantine rock, 
Stern hoary warden of the polar seas. 

Yet, still thou art beneficently kind. 
When nature, panting with a burning thirst, 
Looks up to Heaven with florid, famished gaze, 
How sweet in tear-drops, and in gushing rain 
From scattered clouds, broke on the mountain tops 
By gravitation's vulcan hand, thou down 
In torrents falling, weep'st thyself away,— 
Infusing life in every shrub and flower. 



First, last, best bev'rage requisite for man, 

For nature, and for all subsistency ; 

How sweet thy cooling draught, when parching thirst 

Crawls, scorching, o'er the energies of life. 

Ten thousand thanks would ill repay thy worth 

To Him, the universal Lord of all, 

Who called thee out of chaos by His power, 

And holds thee in the hollow of His hand. 



POEMS. 



EPISTLE TO ELDER JAMES LINEORTH, 



Once more dear friend my harp I'll tune, 
And sing of friendship's sacred boon, 

And plighted cov'nants broken ; 
For well I ween your love of Truth — 
Though some for baser ends forsooth 

Would it were never spoken—- 
Is still unbiased, still remains 

A thing you love to own r 
Though wicked men, for worldly gains, 
May at you sneer and frown. 

With fire then, my lyre then, 
Its chords I'll sweep along, 
While Linforth will henceforth 
Encore the Poet's song. 

Religion's been my dearest friend 
Through life. I hope still to the end 

Her soothing power to claim. 
Though sometimes I've been forced to say, 
Through owning her I've lost my way 

With men of worldly fame ; 
For Oh ! it is an awful tale 

To tell, though it be true, 



112 



HARP OF ZION. 



That Truth and honesty are stale 
Where ease or wealth's in view. 
The world unfurled 
Is error, spleen, and strife ; 
The more we its ills see, 
The less we love of life. 

But 0, my brother, how should we 
Rejoice this latter time to see, 

When Truth's again revealed ; 
To know that tyranny and fraud, 
And all that falsehood loved to laud, 

No longer are concealed ; 
When honest men for nobler aims 

Shall spurn the tyrant's rod, 
Nor countenance oppression's claims 
Against the Truth and God. 

Who'd dare then to spare then 
The word by tongue or pen, 
By preaching or teaching 
God's Truth to sinful men. 



I've felt my heart both sore and sad, 
And often thought reformers mad, 

To see them still renew 
Their claims and prayers in Parliament, 



POEMS. 



With huge petitions yearly sent, 

What course they should pursue ; 
When every passing year but told 
Then- nation's debt and thrall ; 
Whilst alehouse politicians old. 
In dotage still do bawl 

'Gainst slavery, and knavery, 
And righteous laws to come, 
Whilst chinking, unthinking, 
Reform begins at home. 

Again, to hear religious folks 

On sects and parties passing jokes, 

And damning one another ; 
Or hear of Christian nations' war, 
Who pride themselves by death to mar 

The weal of their own brother ; 
While to the self-same God they'll pray 

To aid their mad career, 
That they may more triumphantly 
A victory o'er them bear, 

Is madness and badness 
No infidel would name ; 
Such folly, though holy, 
Old Nick himself would shame. 



HARP OF ZION. 



Oh ! what a world of cursed strife, 
With soldiers and policemen rife, 

And prostitutes and rogues ; 
Churches and ginshops, jails and stews, 
Prelates and lawyers, pimps and news, 

Now keep such things in vogue. 
Thus hand in hand the line and bait 

Draw life to each one's trade ; 
Their fortune or their beggared fate 
By opposition's made. 

Thus prisons by dozens, 
And churches every- where, 
Do show how they know how 
To live by " win and wear " ! 

But mark how " Mormonism " rules 
Without such crime-inspiring tools 

By which the poor are flayed. 
Its Priests provide with their own hands 
For all necessities' demands, 

By working at their trade. 
There, each one judges what is right 

By God's unerring word, 
The couns'lor pays nought for his light, 

The poor dread not the sword, 



POEMS. 



But peace still, ne'er cease will 
Where Seers and Prophets dwell, 
But rancour and hanker 
Are Gentilism's ! hell. 

So now, dear brother, here I'll rest, 
And lay my harp aside ; at best 

'Tis but a creaking lyre. 
I felt the muse come o'er my brain, 
So hope that you'll accept again 

This effort to aspire ; 
And should my song of pain and woe 

Your mind with gloom o'ercast, 
To other minds its truth may show 
Old Bab'lon's glory's past. 

Encore then, the lore then, 
Of " Mormon " aspirations, 
While Lyon will sigh on 
The sounds of his libations. 



116 HARP OF ZION. 



MRS. T. B. H. STENHOUSE'S FAREWELL TO 
HER HUSBAND. 

Acrostic. 



S hall all that this world in patience employ, 
I n the present, or future, of grief, to annoy ; 
S ay what is it all, thongh composed of the best ; 
T o the hope of reward in onr home in the west — 
E ven life evermore, for onr trials in this, 
R egardless of suff ring the deepest distress ! 

S nrely this is the claim of yonr partner in life — 

T o sympathize with yon, and be a fond wife ; 

E ver faithful and true, and in pnreness of heart, 

N eglecting no precept yonr counsels impart 

H ow to rear up onr offspring in Truth's lovely way ! 

nr dnty fulfilling, whatever God shall say ; 

U nder every hardship in patience to bear ; 

S cared not at pale want's gloomy visage of care ; 

E ven death, should it come, cannot make me despair ! 

F orthwith, dearest husband, and father, and friend, 
A 11 my efforts, and aims, to assist yon I'll lend ; 
R espectful to please yon, assisting to gain 
E verlasting reward for a few days of pain, 



POEMS. 



W hen the true sons of Zion with sheaves shall return, 
E xulting with joy, over those who did mourn ! 
L oving wives then shall dance, round the ark of the Lord, 
L ike King David of old in the joy of His word. 

T o receive that intelligence, power, and renown, 
"Oh! help me, Great Spirit," t' endure for a crown. 

H eaven bless you, dear partner, and when far away, 
E ver know this fond heart for thy success will pray ; 
R ejoicing in hope I shall meet you some day. 

H ere then let me rest, with no feeling ajar, 

U nited in love, though divided — afar, 

S till our hearts shall be one, like the sun's blending ray, 

B earning bright till it sets o'er the west, far away. 

A h ! then all my thoughts of affection and love, 

N ow and ever shall follow, your course to approve, 

D elighted to know thou art mine from above. 



118 



HARP OF ZION. 



MEMENTO 



My dearest friends, for you I've cull'd a wreath from 

memory's bower, 
Perfumed with Kue, Forget-me-not, and Eden's lovely 

flower ; 
That while you travel life's rough road, this posy ever 

green 
May tell of flowers that never fade, beyond this fleeting 

scene. 

But oh ! 'tis sad to touch the lyre when bent too tight 

with woe, 
For then the chords of feeling spring where griefs dull 

numbers flow ; 
Yet, sadder far, in sick'ning pain when words nor tears 

impart 
One soothing feeling o'er the mind to ease the aching heart. 



So now, my friend, the task be mine to touch a thrilling 

strain, 
And cheer you with revealings of Messiah's glorio us reign 
Old hoary Time, thy outspread wings, cross-bones, and 

sand-glass run, 
Are emblems of mortality the fearful world would shun. 



POEMS. 



But more divinely blest are you, with Truth's inspiring 

lay, 
To know your Heavenly origin ! to claim your kindred 

clay ! 
See! yonder flowery garden soivn, fit semblance of the 

tomb, 
No passing stranger there can tell what seeds may spring 

and bloom. 

But they to whom the charge is given to watch our sleeping 

dust, 
Will they not know the sacred spot that holds their treasured 

trust ? 
Oh, happy day ! when we shall greet the loved ones we 

revere, 
Who only lived to breathe in life to gain a soul-made 

sphere. 

Yes, soon that blessed day will come, the brightest and the 

best, 
When each fond mother's infant child will rise and call her 

blest, 
And round the peaceful home will group, their loved ones, 

parted long, 
To tell how joyous they have been, 'rapt in seraphic 

song ! 



120 HARP OF ZION. 



Then Time and Death, so fraught with pain remembered, 

will endear 
The sweets of Zion's paradise, without distracting fear ; 
Sealed by the Priesthood's saving power, our offspring still 

shall rise, 
To gain perfection's Godlike height I the Saints' immortal 

prize. 

Then dry the burning tear of grief, exult with heartfelt joy ! 
To know that Death nor Hell can hurt, or yet their peace 

destroy ; 
And while affection's tendrils twine around the absent fair, 
Look up to Heaven, run to obtain; you'll find your 

treasure there. 



POEMS. 



" IT'S A CAULD BARKEN BLAST THAT BLAWS 
NOBODY GOOD." 



When the winter winds roar like to ding down the luin,* 
And every fell blast threatens vengeance to come, 
Till our biggins o' thack are left roofless an 7 bare, 
And the owners half dead wi' the thoughts o' repair, 
Then the thatcher and tileman may thankfully craw, 
While the wind plays old Harry among the old straw, 
And tumbles the canes in its hurricane mood : — 
" It's a cauld barren blast that blaws nobody good." 

At the sign of the Bottle, and Three Golden Balls, 
Near the Home of the drunkard — the old Prison walls ! 
There the pimply-faced publican, swelled like a tub, 
Wi' a red partan j nose, that would blaze wi' a rub, 
And his neighbour, the pawnbroker, live at their ease, 
On the last dregs o' wretchedness, want, and disease ; 
For them thousands go naked and perish for food — 
" It's a cauld barren blast that blaws nobody good." 

When the state grips the kirk wi' its cauld, icy claw, 
And would force her to yield a' her rights to the law, 

* Chimney. t Lobster. 



122 HARP OF ZION. 



Should the honest but dare to resist the sad yoke, 
They're ca'd rebels, and chased from their manses and 

flock; 
Then the dunces and drones through, their patrons' graces, 
Exchange hand and glove for the best stipend places. 
Now who could speak plainer, as speak truth they should, 
" It's a cauld barren blast that blaws nobody good." 

When the storm-beaten barque, homeward bound wi' her 

gain, 
Is allured by the wrecker's light, far on the main, 
Ah ! how gallant she rides o'er the wild mountain wave, 
But to find, among breakers, a watery grave ; 
While those cold-hearted demons, hell-fraught to the core, 
Exult in the hope of their plunder on shore, 
Yet, though blood-stained and crueller far than the flood ; 
"It's a cauld barren blast that blaws nobody good." 

When oppression and want stalk the land far and wide, 
And the prospect of famine rolls in like a tide, 
Then let forestalled grin o'er their old, mouldy grain ! 
And the landowners pocket then- ill-gotten gain ; 
While the desolate poor cry aloud with starvation, 
And fierce demagogues strive to rouse up the nation, 
Then the hangman and halter, Paul Pry -like, intrude : 
"Its a cauld barren blast that blaws nobody good." 



POEMS. 123 



Let the chances o' fate turn the trump o' the clay, 
Be it sunshine or murrain, grim want or decay ; 
Yet there aye will be hope in our losses and fears ; 
Then a fig for their lectures, their curses, and tears. 
While there's wind in the lift* let it tear up the thack ; 
And drunkards to drink there will never be lack ; 
Should reformers bawl out till their een start wi' blood, 
"There will aye be a blast to blaw somebody good." 



THOUGHTS ON VISITING THE HOME MY OF 
FATHERS. 



My dear native shades, when you rise in my view, 
All the scenes of my youth spring afresh to my mind. 
Time and nature have altered your aspect, 'tis true, 
Yet still, the resemblance I can see in you, 
Of these haunts dear to mem'ry, my youth left behind. 

How oft have I wandered o'er yon distant hill, 

With faithful old Tweed by my side ; 

If I pointed the place where the ewes strayed at will, 

* Firmament. 



124 



HARP OF ZION. 



His sagacity led the command to fulfil, 
And fawning, came back to my plaid. 

The pretences of friendship, in man I have found 

To preponderate still to the rogue ; 

But such true love, and friendship, and feeling so kind, 

In connection with mortals, I seldom can find 

As I always have found in my dog! 

The well-known old bushes, where I used to play, 

That stood near the end of the vale, 

Are now by the water-course washed away, 

And the mansion itself, fallen into decay, 

And the dove-house nods low to the gale. 

The clack of the mill, and the tick of the clock ; 
The birr of the wheel, and the cry of the deer, 
And the sugh of the water-fall over the rock, 
Are sounds that fond mem'ry can never unlock : 
These youthful sounds never can die in my ear ! 



The lovely young features, and smirking black eye, 
Of her I first loved, are no more to be seen ; 
Yes, ye tall spreading oaks, ye alone heard the sigh 
That innocence gave, though I knew not then why : 
But^now they are gone as they never had been. 



POEMS. 



Yes, these youthful moments, alas ! they are fled ; 

And my grandsire and father are gone ; 

My mother and sisters are laid with the dead, 

And there is not a stone for to mark out their head ; 

Like myself, they're uncared for, unknown. 

But yon red setting Sun gives a warning, I know 
That darkness approaches at each parting ray ; 
Then farewell for ever, far from you I go, — 
But my heart it shall ever be nigh unto you, 
Till the day of my pilgrimage passes away ! 



126 HARP OF ZION. 



LINES INSCRIBED TO SISTERS MONTGOMERY 

AND M'LEAN, 
IN ANSWER TO THEIR LAMENTATIONS IN BABYLON. 



Dear Sisters, though your dreary lot 

A wilderness may seem, 
Still, life has hope and sunny hours : 

May gladness on you beam ! 

Where'er I cast my wistful eyes, 

O'er earth's remotest wild, 
Look where I may, still whisperings say, 

God loves the lonely child. 

The flower reared in the desert waste, 

Is strengthened to endure ; 
It bows and blossoms 'neath the storm, 

In virgin meekness, pure. 

And though no balmy showers impart, 

Nor dews refreshing bring, 
Still, sweet the solitary flower 

Blooms, like the vernal spring ! 



FOEMS. 



It cheers the pilgrim's care-worn mind, 

With Hope's reviving ray, 
And points him to the better land — 

The valley far away ! 

So, Sisters, like this desert flower, 
May such sweet charms be given, 

That you may throw a savour o'er 
The messengers of Heaven. 



TIME. 



How swiftly time flies on apace, 
The present moment, like a race, 

Glides swift away ; 
And ere unheeding mortals know 
Its value as the moments flow — 

Lo, yesterday! 

These moments, though for ever flown, 
We fondly think them still our own, 
But ah, alas ! 



128 HARP OF ZION. 



Time's unremitting course rolls on, 
In haste to be, and to be gone 

With that which was. 

Ah ! fleeting shadow, passing breath, 
Scarce uttered till thou'rt lost in death, 

Nor hand can stay. 
Yet, still the future, present, past, — 
The same for ever, ever last 

Without decay. 

From age to age, from everlasting, 

Frail mortals their accounts are casting- 
Yet, still thou'lt be 

A thing beginning to begin ! 

Yet, seldom thought of, but in sin. 
Eternity I 



POEMS. 



INQUIRY. 



" And they sung a new song, saying, Thou art worthy to take the book, 
and to open the seals thereof, for thou wast slain, and hast redeemed us to 
God by thy blood, out of every kindred, and tongue, and people, and nation, 
and hast made us unto our God, Kings and Priests, and we shall reign on 
the earth."— Rev. v. 9, 10. 



Tell me, ye twinkling Stars 

That gild the azure sky, 

If, in your distant rounds, 

Some place of bliss you spy, 

Some peaceful, happy home, 

Where souls for ever rest ; 

Or will they yet return 

To earth when it is blest ? 
The Stars all winked, as if unfond to tell, 
Then whispering, said — " On Earth the Saints shall dwell." 

Tell me, thou glist'ning Sea, 
Bright looking-glass of Heaven, 
If earth shall e'er again 
To happy Saints be given ? 
Say, if, when wrecked on thee, 
Thou wilt again restore 



HARP OF ZION. 



Their long-lost, sunken barks 

That never came a-shore ? 
The wild waves dashed along in merry strain, 
And echoed back — "On Earth they'll meet again." 

And thou, majestic Sun, 

In glory dazzling, bright, 

Say if that blessed home 

Enjoyed by Saints in light, 

Be, like thy bright career, 

One moonless, cloudless race, 

All luminous and gay, 

Beyond the bounds of space ? 
Behind a cloud the Sun then hid his face, 
And blushing, said — " The Earth's their resting place." 

Come, spirit-stirring thought, 

And faith that ever brings 

The soul's celestial bliss, 

Of all created things ; 

Say, wouldst thou love to dwell 

For ever here below, 

Where all our loves, and fears, 

And social friendships grow ? 
Yes, yes ! the soul replies, in hope's exulting strain,— 
"Though blest with God above, we'll reign on Earth again." 



POEMS. 



ELEGY— ON WEE HUGHIE, 
A Pet Canary. 



My bonnie wee Hugh was a canty bird, 
Though now he lies cauld 'neath the silent yird ; 
He whistled fu' blithely "the humours o' glen,'' 
And spake Wee Hughie as weel as some men. 
He picked from my han' the piles o' hemp seed : 
But he'll never speak mair, for Hughie is dead I 

When the bairns were a' ranting wi' boist'rous noise, 
Wee Hughie was aye at the top o' his voice. 
But when learning his lesson, fu' doucely he 
Would cock his bit head, and shut his ae ee. 
And he looked sae pleased wi' his sugared bread : 
But he'll ne'er pick mair, for Hughie is dead ! 

Nae lounger was he when the morning light came, 
Be't summer or winter, *twas a' the same, 
He would dight his neb on the bauke tapping thing, 
Then straik down his breast, an' stretch out his wing, 
Then ring up the house wi' whistling a screed : 
But hell ne'er wake us mair, for Hughie is dead ! 



, .. « 



132 


HARP OF ZION. 




ACROSTIC 


• 


ON JANE BROMLEY. 


J 


ane ; if thou wouldst be free from sin, 


A ttend to what your parents say ; 


N 


eglect no precept ; strive to win 


E 


ach of their loves from day to day* 


B 


e slow to speak, and quick to learn ; 


E 


egard the smallest passing thought ; 





n every subject still discern 


M 


ore wisdom than the past has brought. 


L 


et virtue be your constant aim ; 


E 


vil eschew, nor fear, nor blame 


Y 


our future life will ever shame. 




ACROSTIC 


ON 


AN INFANT DAUGHTER OF MRS. HOLBROOKE, 




MANCHESTER. 


S 


oft, little, tiny, loving thing, 


A ffection o'er thy features flings 


K edolent innocence and light, 


A 


11 sparkling, speaking words that bring 


H 


eaven's happiness to mortal sight. 



POEMS. 


133 


H eaven's seraphs may be passing fair ! 




n earth we only can compare 




L ove with the lovely things we see, 




B edeck'd with beauty's symmetry, 




R effecting innocence' mild sway 




'er all that nature can display. 




n thee, dear child, we love to gaze, 




K ind words to speak, and bless thy future days ; 




E 'en Sarah's blessing be thy laureled bays. 




ACROSTIC 




— ON LUCY MARTIN. 




L oving sister, for thy kindness 


U nto one who can't repay, 




C ount the debt a tie to bind us, 




Y ears of friendship can't defray. 




M ortal promises may perish, 




A nd our present friendships fade ; 




R egard for thee I'll ever cherish. 




T hanks for favour 's easy said, 




I your brother, thanks expressing, 




N ought can give you, but his blessing. 


i 



HARP OF ZION. 



IN REMEMBRANCE OF ROBERT F. CALDERWOOD, 

A PARTICULAR FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR, 

Who died on Monday, 25th August, 1845. Aged 21 years and 6 months. 



Paraphrased from the lamentations of his Father after his decease. 



Robert, my son, and art thoti now 

To the cold grave consigned ! 
Methinks thy form I ever see 

Still pictured in my mind : 
Thine eyes still beam with lustre ; gaze 

As they were wont, so meek, 
Ere foul disease had dim'd their blaze ? 

Or blanched thy rosy cheek. 

Thy voice still lingers on my ear, 

As it was wont to do, 
In melting tones of love sincere, 

When I conversed with you ; 
I pause to think that thou art gone ; 

I doubt against my will ; 
Thy shade before me liveth on ! 

Affection holds thee still. 

Sleeping, or waking, all I view, 
Or dream of in the past, 



POEMS. 135 



Eevives those scenes that, linked with you, 

Were far too bright to last ! 
And still I feel thy presence near, 

Yet, feel death's dread decree, 
A something whisp'ring in my ear, — 

Soon ! Soon ! I'll come to thee ! 



LINES TO ELDER G. B. WALLACE, 

On his Departure for America, 1852. 



If Scotland lost a hero brave, 

In her great Wallace might, 
How much alas ! should she now grieve 

To lose a son of light. 
Yes, Wallace whom the Heavens gave, 

The Hero of the Lake, 
Forsook his Mends and distant home 

For Truth and Freedom's sake. 
If valour bring an earthly fame 

For deeds of feudal strife, 
What glory will await his name, 

Who brought eternal life ! 



136 HARP OF ZION. 



EPISTLE TO LIVERPOOL. 



Dear friend, accept, with gratitude, 
My homely thanks for proffered good 

In the forthcoming volume. 
Your kind assistance timely lent 

Will help me to appear in print 
Correct in every column. 
For sage remarks in sound or sense 

Devoid of such inspection, — 
Such literature is sheer pretence 
That cannot bear inspection. 
By rhyming and chiming, 

A dunce may tempt the muse ; 
But thought still, it ought still. 
No aiding help refuse. 

So, brother, with your better head, 
I hope at least your help, instead 

Of spectacles, to use ; 
Whilst musing o'er my random rhyme 
Separate the trash from the sublime, 

The gold from the refuse. 
But oh, have mercy ; mind the claim 

The best of rhymsters make ; 



PCfeMS. 



137 



If Truth be in % oh spar 't, nor blame 
The diction for its sake. 
For diamonds still 

Are valuable, though crusted with the sand 
The Lapidar, the wheel will spare, 
But polish 't with his hand. 

Grammatically scan each line ; 
The sing'lar verbs and nouns define, 

What meaning they express ; 
See that the future has a tense, 
With proper words to point the sense, 

No more, nor nothing less. 
Although allowances are made 
To clink the stanza's chime, 
Yet, should the sense stand in the shade, 
'Tis suicide in rhyme. 

To parse then's a farce then, 

When words, the sense beguile ; 
The meaning whilst gleaning, 
Arrangements oft do spoil. 



We live in days when every fool 
His wit would rhyme without a rule, 

And pleased in print would show it ; 
When greater clowns than he would praise 



138 HARP OF ZION. 



His dogg'rel "chanting billy" lays> 

And puff him as a poet ; 
He has no thought, but how he'll clink 

The words from others plundered, 
Till ev'iy one who sees 't will think 
'Tis plagiarism blundered. 
Abusing, misusing 

What others rhymed before, 
Till rhymsters, like seamsters, 
Are found in every door. 



But such sly fraud I'd scorn to make 
A stepping-stone in glory's wake, 

While mounted on Pegasus. 
Let honest fame be mine, or none, 
And Truth my motto, Truth alone, 

Inclining up Pamasus. 
And should I e'er forget at times, 

And others' works pervert, 
I'll mark with commas all those rhymes 
That wit would say "insert ;" 
For stealing 's a failing 

I ever did abhor, 
Though sometimes in spinning rhymes 
I've borrowed half a score. 



POEMS. 



139 



Yet where's the man of common sense 
Who's felt the inspiring influence, 
But knows Plagiar 's a bother ? 
Sure votaries at the Muse's shrine— 
I quote the torch of Truth divine — 

'Tis one light fires another. 
Thus poetry, like streamlets glad, 

With flowing Truth 's allied, 
'Tis when old thought to new we add 
That wisdom 's deified. 

Be kind then, and mind then 

This maxim of the Seers, 
That Truth told is never old, 
Though used six thousand years. 



And now, my brother, to conclude 
This sage epistle, as it should, 

In thanks for help expecting, 
I will proceed as time permit, 
And send you each frail manuscript, 

For your designed correction. 
For poets, like fond mothers, oft 

Think well of fondlings spoiled ; 
In this I've proved my musings soft. 

Till time showed me beguiled. 



140 HARP OF ZION. 



But searching and scorching, 
Your critic, prying eye, 

Where failings prevail in, 
Will composition try. 



EPISTLE TO MISS J. BROMLEY. 



My Sister Jane, if thou wouldst court the muse, 
Be patient, gath'ring what the world refuse ; 
Think on all subjects, turn them o'er and o'er, 
Eeview all maxims ! passions all explore ; 
And while you study, you will learn the more. 
Then when you write, express your simple lays 
Just as the image of the thought portrays. 
'Tis to this source the charms of Truth we trace, 
The ennobling powers of beauty, fancy, grace, 
Or sterner thoughts of freedom's holy fire, 
Of all that's lofty, worthy to admire, 
Of virtue, vice, of goodness, or of wrong, 
In sight, in sound, of narrative or song. 
No matter where the poets country claim, 



POEMS. 141 



French, German, Jew, or Turk, 'tis all the same ; 
Where'er the mind imbued with Truth imparts 
The overflowings of commingling hearts, 
There is the fount, from whence emotions flow 
Of all they knew, or we can ever know. 
'Twas these emotions big with living Truth, aye 
Gave words of wisdom to our Laureate Southey ; 
Which struck the lyre in words that fame returns 
To Homer, Milton, Shakespeare, Scott, or Burns. 
By her we paint the humblest flowery mead, 
Or tell the hope that lights the dullest head ! 
Built on no learning colleges can give ; 
Bound by no critic form of law to live ; 
Her running fountain is the human heart ; 
Her wide domain, the universe ; no part, 
Or passion, country, her horizon claim ; 
She lives with all, and thinks and feels the same ! 
Her heritage, the dower of thoughtful man ; 
Her task-work, vast infinitude to scan. 
The true, the good, the beautiful, and grand, 
Alike fall prostrate 'neath her magic wand. 
Then, my dear Sister, this great axiom learn, 
That to be great, we must all things discern ; 
And when you've learned that knowledge to indite, 
The world will know you can both think and write, 
And when your lustre-light is seen to burn, 



142 HARP OF ZION. 



Some other minds will light their torch in turn, 
And light and Truth to other times record, 
Till Bromley's name becomes a household word. 



EPISTLE INSCRIBED TO J. M'LAWS, 
G. S. L. CITY. 



Dear Brother, while the Clergy rage 
At Mormon's wild, romantic page, 
And wonder why this learned age 

Should hearken to such folly ; 
I know that thou canst judge between 
The good and bad of what has been, 
With knowledge and discernment keen, 

Though curst by men so holy. 

Away with such sectarian themes ; 
Pore o'er the Golden Book of Dreams; 
There, living Truths, like hidden streams, 

In pureness still meander. 
Hid up from man's unhallowed greed, 



POEMS. H3 



No commentator's sense we need ! 
But learn its precepts as we read, 
Nor to logicians pander. 

By its unsullied pages trace 

The sons of Ephraim's long-lost race 

'Mong lonely wilds, where woodlands grace 

Their ancient, mould'ring grandeur. 
Anon their gorgeous temples rise, 
Their sculptured towers and halls surprise, 
Their palaced richness far outvies 

The Goth's masonic splendour. 

But sweeter for the bliss it brings, 
Of purer hopes, and holier things, 
Revealed from Heaven on angel's wings. 

To glean the world for burning ! 
The Priesthood and its blessings yield, 
A twofold treasure long concealed ; 
Now Truth and Righteousness revealed \ 

Bring joy to thousands mourning. 

There, worlds on worlds expand our view; 
It tells how God creates anew, 
How order out of chaos grew, 
By Truth from God descending ; 



HARP OF ZION. 



How spirits had a prior state, 
Keceived a body to grow great 
In power to wield the helm of fate 
Through glory never-ending. 

How substitution's influence shed 
A blessing to the captive dead, 
When by the Gospel Truth forth led, 

Eejoicing in perfection ; 
How they without us could not rise, 
Nor we be perfect in God's eyes, 
Without then* knowledge to devise 

Our offspring's resurrection. 

And then the day of wrath foretold, 
When melting heat and piercing cold, 
Combined with famine, will unfold 

The day of God stupendous ; 
When earth shall like a drunkard reel, 
And planets from their orbits wheel, 
And seas to clotted blood congeal 

In stench and death tremendous. 

But happy, happy, then, 'twill be 
A joyful time for you and me, 
That e'er our eyes were blest to see 



POEMS. 



The simple written story ; 
That e'er we heard of Joseph's name, 

Embraced the Truth, and shared the shame. 
To gain a deathless, Godlike fame, 
A never-ending glory. 



EPISTLE— INSCRIBED TO S. R. 



Dear sister, though few days have past 

Since you and I have met, 
I feel our friendship still will last 

When Time's last sun is set. 

For oh ! what can that love destroy 
Which dwelt with us of yore, 

When in our Father's blest employ 
We His bright image bore. 

And now, made one by Truth on earth, 

We feel the kindling flame 
Which gave our spirits former birth, 

A parentage, and name ; 



HARP OF ZION. 



And will in after worlds resume 

A higher glory far, 
Where Kings and Priests immortal bloom, 

And God's dominions are. 

Yes ! then we'll see our Father's face, 

As formerly we've seen, 
And feel a mother's fond embrace, 

And know what we have been ; 

And how our elder brother was 

The first-begotten Son, 
And kept his Father's Heavenly laws, 

And life eternal won ! 

And how that love which fired his breast, 

Shall us inspire the same ; 
That we like him may gain that rest, 

Through whom we have a claim ; 



That all our kindred spirits may 

Return again to God, 
Through substitution's thorny way, 

Who kept their first abode. 



POEMS. 147 



Then let us keep by firm resolve, 
The eov'nant we have made ; 

Nor let temptation e'er dissolve 
What God in Truth hath said. 

Yes, sister, if you steadfast prove, 

And be as you have been, 
You'll wear a crown in Heaven above, 

And reign on earth a queen ! 



148 



HARP OF ZION. 



EPISTLE TO ELDER JOHN JAQUES. 



Kind friend, your letter duly sent, 
Though long past date, does now present 

A claim upon my mnse. 
I've tried to answer *t several times, 
Yet, when I've tried my jilting rhymes, 

Her aid would still refuse ; 
But now, her kind, congenial glow, 
In words comes rushing like a flow 

Of springtide o'er my soul ! 
I feel my thoughts, that silent burn 
In homely breathings, would return 

An answer to your scroll. 



Like echoes from deep, rocky cells ! 
Your voice reverberating tells 

The Harp's intended claim : 
Not that its worth for new coined thought 
Has any sparkling ideas brought, 

To give it such a name ! 
But, that the gift for generous good 
Is worthy of itself, and should 

Be honoured for its aim. 



POEMS. 



While brighter wreaths may deck the brow 
Of those who greater talent show, 
Be mine a Howard's fame. 

Let Shakespeare's, Scott's, and Byron's lays 
Crown these immortals with the bays 

Of fame, for all they've shown ; 
But, as for me, no boon I'll seek, 
Greater than toil among the meek : 

There let my seed be sown ! 
That when this passing scene is gone, 
And its false literature unknown, 

My harvest crop may rise, 
In after worlds, where worth shall be 
The glory of eternity, 

Among the good and wise. 

Philanthropy ! inspiring word ! 
First taught by our redeeming Lord, 

Through messengers from Heaven, 
To raise the downcast, and inspire 
With nobler aims and holier fire, 

The destitute and driven ; 
To help the helpless, and secure 
Asylums for the meek and poor, 

May all my efforts tend ; 



150 



HARP OF ZION. 



And when I've done my best to save. 

May this be written on my grave : — 

" Here lies the poor man's friend." 



My Harp Fve strung from year to year 7 
At times in joy, at times in fear, 

Of Zion's weal and woe ; 
I've felt her sorrows wring my heart 
With feelings words conld ne'er impart, 

Which none but Saints conld know. 
And now my musings I'll resign, 
Praying the Lord that gift be thine 

To tune my broken lyre ; 
That Zion's rising glory may 
Through you a greater power display 

Of Truth's undying fire. 



SONNETS. 153 



SCEPTICISM. 



" Son of man, set thy face against mount Seir, and prophesy against it, 
and say, I will lay thy cities waste, and thou shalt be desolate." — 
Ezk. xxxv. 



Go search, and say, ye sceptics who find fault, 
Why lands, once fertile, are now ruins wild ? 

Lo ! Sodom's Dead Sea's sulphurous asphalt, 
Bab'lon's marshy fens and tumuli piled, 

And Petra's rocky tenements forlorn ; 

The wandering tribes of Esau's cursed race, 
And Jacob's sons without a resting place — 

Of all their cities, commerce, glory, shorn ! 

Say, why thus cursed, and scattered, and o'erthrown ? 
Go to the Sacred Page — there learn their doom, 

Their sin's disgrace, their tears could not atone 
Till the " refreshing " rouse the dormant tomb : 

Say, sceptic, say, are monuments like these 

The conjurations of the mind's disease ? 



154 HARP OF ZION. 



SIGNS OF THE LAST DAYS. 



" And there shall he signs in the sun, and in the moon, and in the stars, 
and upon the earth, distress of nations, with perplexity, the sea and the 
waves roaring ; men's hearts failing them for fear." — Luke xxi. 25, 26. 



Go ask, ye sages of the latter day, 

Why do the herds now perish from the stall ? 
And why grim pest'lence stalks in dread array, 

And tens of thousands 'neath its influence fall ? 
Say, why the seed now rots beneath the clod ! 
And meagre famine tracks the putrid sod ? 
Or why the haughty folk in languor dread 
The cry of millions famishing for bread ? 

Or why alarmed at war's blood-thirsty ire, 
Earthquakes, mock-suns, and rainbows during night, 

With all the dreadful ravages of fire, 
Nameless opposing creeds, and priestly might ? 
Say, are not these forebodings of that gloom 
Long since foretold, would be this world's doom ? 



SONNETS. 



CHOLERA. 



What wailing 's this I hear, at home, abroad ? 

A strange foreboding of calamity, 

Which all men dread, and few can understand : 

At which the vulgar stare, and more profane 

Would love to jest it out of countenance. 

Yet, still it comes with stealthy, murd'rous step ; 

The grave and gay, alike before it fall ; 

The learned seem baffled at its dark approach. 

And, as an antidote, propose what might 

Have been a sure preventative to some, 

If timely given ! But common charity 

Must see its haggard victim breed disease ; 

And when its influence spreads, retire afraid 

At what their sins have made ! and say 'tis Death ! 



LUST. 



Lust is the offspring of a thousand sighs, 
Intrigue, deception, and as many lies ; 
A strange compound of hidden, plotting ill, 
To fire with rage, to torture, or to kill ; 
Fraught with distrust, anxiety, and care, 



156 HARP OF ZION. 



Jealousy, revenge, and unconsoled despair ; 

The softest passion of a menial's heart, 

That ebbs and flows, as impulse plays its part ; 

At times o'erconie with feelings proud and mean, 

That lurk in secret, yet are ever seen 

In looks, and gestures, thoughts, and strong desire, 

That live, and burn unquenched ; undying fire, 

That e'en in death, with all life's powers destroyed, 

Still longs, and lusts, yet never is enjoyed. 



IN MEMORY OF ELDER JAMES YOUNG. 



Behind the veil another brother 's gone, 

To wait the mandates of a brighter sphere — 
Whose virtues with such Heavenly lustre shone, 

That e'en the bigot stern, could but revere ! 

And weeping friends regret his absence here. 
True to- his trust ! though scoffers dared to mock, 

He proved a loving husband ! parent kind ! 
A faithful watchman o'er his little flock, 

He led and taught them with a master mind ; 

No prideful feelings e'er by him designed 



SONNETS. 157 



Passed with contempt the supplicating poor ; 
He gave ! and gained what wealth could not secure. 
Thrice happy Saint ! may we like thee still prize 
To live the best — the sordid, poorest dies ! 



SUSPICION. 



Suspicion ! " Green-eyed Monster," how I dread 

The glare of thy low, sneaking, hell-hatched glance. 
Thy slimy movements track thy path — thy tread : 

Thou car'st not much for character ; thy chance 
Is how to kill ! and that by treach'rous stealth ! 
Devoid of praise, or e'en for proffered wealth. 

Half words and winks insinuate thy guile 
'Gainst others' virtue, and their dear-earned fame ; 

That self may ride triumphantly the while, 
Rough-shod o'er greatness, for a selfish aim ! 
Hell-born incubus ! Damned assassin sprite, 
Hence — seek thy dwelling in chaotic night ! 
Give me the faith, increasing still in love, 
To think no evil, but all good approve. 



158 HARP OF ZION. 



FAITH. 



'Tis consolation sweet, and strength'ning to 
The Saint, when sickness mars the bliss of life, 
To have the healing ordinance applied ; 
To send for the Elders of the Church, and 
Have the holy, consecrated oil poured 
On the sickly frame, and hands devoutly 
Laid upon the head, in fervent prayer. 
Faith ministers to Faith, and blessings come ; 
The Priesthood seals, rebukes, and brings on earth 
A foretaste of that power, unknown before 
The Gospel and its blessings were revealed — 
E'en health, intelligence, and sin forgiven. 
Ah ! who so void of sense, as to despise 
What God commands, and sinful creatures, need ? 



INDEPENDENCE. 



[f to be independent, means a proud, 
Unruly spirit, self-willed and boasting ! 
Or filled with spleen to see another's good, 
Coveting the fortune, fame, or power, 
Which others, by industry have attained, 



SONNETS. 



Then let such freedom perish. For my part, 
I'd rather be a very slave, and rattle in 
My chains, than live to be a thing so mean, 
So jarring to the common good of man ! 
But, if to live above the grov'ling things 
Of hatred, envy, and distrust, which rule 
The rabid feelings of the rabble crowd ; 
Then shall we know such independent men 
Are those whom all may well depend upon. 



OBEDIENCE. 



Obedience is the common lot of all ! 
No being is exempt, not even Christ 
Our Lord. Down through all grades, above, 
Below ; amongst all worlds, cherubim, 
And seraphim, and angels round the throne, 
Stand in their place, and give obedience, 
Through delegated power, to those above 
Them, each subservient to the other's word, 
Until they reach the great Elohim. 



HARP OF ZION. 



And he, who in this low probationary 

State learns not obedience through the things he 

Suffers, will have to pay the penalty 

Of his neglect, and have again to come 

Through other spheres to do his Father's will. 



KEGKET. 

INSCRIBED TO ELDER J. D. ROSS. 



Tis hard to say farewell when fond hearts part ! 
To burst asunder ties that bind affection 
Firm as death, and sacred as the grave ; — 
Yet, life, as if 'twere made for trial, 
Bears upon its bosom a corroding film, 
That, like dark Lethe's current, withers 
All the flowers that spring along its winding 
Shade ! and strews the pleasant walks of life 
With fallen banks and broken soil to greet 
The hopeful eye. So friendship, love, and life, 
Bloom with the verdure of eternal spring ! 
But ah ! to-morrow comes, and with it comes 
The unexpected change of circumstance, 
The parting sigh, the tear, the fond farewell. 



SONNETS. 



REVERSES. 



Who that have felt the parting tear of grief, 

To meet again in hope will find relief ; 

Who that have lived and lingered long in death, 

Will find extatic joy in endless life, 
Where no disease will taint immortal breath ; 

Where sires and sons united, man and wife, 
Shall greet each other ne'er to part again. 

How bright the sunshine for a night of woe ; 
How great the pleasure for an horn- of pain ; 

How sweet the peace where safety dreads no foe ; 
Death swallowed up in life, and sin unknown ; 
All cares and fears, distrust and treach'iy, flown : 
Ah ! who would murmur, crosses to endure, 
If these will sweeten after-life secure. 



MAN-MADE RELIGION. 



Tis strange to see how multiform dissents 
Distract the social feelings, and prevent 
The universal good of all mankind, 
Where no real Truth inspires the human mind. 



HARP OF ZION. 



Why should religion, if 'twere Truth, divert 

From love and friendship to debate and strife, 
And chain the mind, and petrify the heart, 

And be a curse, instead the bliss of life ? 
Why is it fraught with sighs, and sobs, and tears, 

Distrust, hypocrisy, and selfish greed ; 
A life of doubt, a world of future fears, 

A thing not of the heart, but of the head ? 
The reason 's obvious, when its fault we scan — 
What God ne'er gave, must be the craft of man. 



SLEEP OF DEATH. 



Who that has felt the charm of balmy sleep 
Steal softly o'er the weary, worn-out frame, 
Has felt in part what Saints departing feel — 
Calmly resigned, his work on earth now done, 
The virtuous patient lays him meekly down 
In peace serene, nor feels the guilty qualms 
The wicked in their dissolution dread ; 
His eyes and ears, though shut to mortal view, 



SONNETS. 



Have mental sight, and as his spirit leaves 
Its clay-clogged tenement to join the blest, 
He sighs farewell to Mends and loved ones dear, 
With the last motion of a bursting heart ; 
And as the sun declines, so doth he shed 
A radiance o'er the gloomy pall of death. 



EPITAPH IN MEMORY OF ELDER J. H. FLANIGAN, 

PRESIDENT OF BIRMINGHAM CONFERENCE, 

Who departed this life Jan. 29th, 1851. 



Our brother died in life's meridian hour, 

A prey to small-pox in a foreign clime. 
We felt his loss, yet o'er his ashes pour 
No dirge lament, nor melancholy chime ! 
He left for Heaven, to reap the fruit of time. 
Yes, we shall see him, though from us he 's borne. 
With many more who laboured to upbuild 
And gather up the good, who now are sealed 
To rise in the First Resurrection's morn ! 
If such his blessings, ! with what regard 
Should Saints esteem the pure in heart's reward 
Who lived for glory, and eternal fame, 
And gain like him an Everlasting name. 



HARP OF ZION. 



SLAUGHTERING. 



'Tis strangely odd, to think of some men's choice 

In trades ; for instance, slaughtering ! 

How stern the butcher's heart ; oh ! how devoid 

Of sympathy. The knife is drawn, and in 

A second finds its way to the warm heart 

Of the defenceless lamb. He looks well pleased 

To think his work is done, that murderous work 

Of slaying, shedding blood of innocence : 

While the uplifted eye, now glazed in death, 

Looks with a suppliant's gaze, as if 't would say, 

" Ah ! cruel man, what have I done to thee, 

Is it to live thou takest life away ? 

There was a time when nature would recoil 

At such a deed, thy purer hands to soil ! " 



ON THE PORTRAIT OF ELDER G. P. DYKES. 



If there's ought in the bland, expressive face, 
That could give the form of an Angel's grace, 
And inspire the pencil with truthful lines 
Of the mind serene ! where intelligence shines ! 



SONNETS. 



'Tis that noble portrait of brother Dykes ! 
Where something's portrayed which ev'ry one likes ; 
So towering the forehead ! so keen the bright eye 
Where meekness and diffidence each other vie, 
And mildness, and mercy, are blended so fair, 
While the flash of their eloquence bids you beware. 
If Phrenology's true, when its bumps are defined, 
And the face in its form, be an index of mind 
Then let the outlines of this portrait declare 
What Piercy, so life-like, delineates there ! 



POVERTY AND DEBT. 



debt ! thou dreadful, terrifying thing, 

Companion of old age and poverty, 
Methiuks, accusing, thou dost sternly bring 

The ghosts of craving creditors to me ; 

Disdain still lurking in their eyes I see, 
And taunting jeers, and words that pierce me through 

Rags, and infirmity, and age combined, 






HARP OF ZION. 



Are ills, the noble spirit can subdue ! 

But, to be thought dishonest is unkind, 
When struggling virtue strives with all her might- 
Yet cannot give extortion all her due — ■ 
Till prison walls, and bars, — ah ! hateful sight- 
Must satisfy proud avarice in gross, 
Through dire revenge, by making loss on loss. 



A SATIRE ON AVARICE. 



ye who tremble at expense, and fear 

The outlay of your money for the Church ! 
I'd have you ever this in mind to bear, 

If you'd be saving, nor be left in lurch, 
Tie up your purse strings with a double knot, 

Button each pocket, poverty cry out, 
Till all believe you're not worth half a groat, 

And all you have is snugly up the spout. 
Then you are safe ! nor need to fear a frown 

From any one, no matter what folk say,— 

The Lord has said it and he will defray. 
Your bread upon the waters you have thrown, 

And will most surely find it after many days. 

The measure meted He again repays. 



SONGS. 



STRIKE THE LYBE. 



Come holy fire, with faith inspire 

The 'rapt angelic strain, 
To sing in praise of latter-days, 

To strike the lyre again, again ; 

So strike the lyre again. 

Life's trials soon will have then noon ; 

Its night, the coming morn ; 
Then patient love will all things prove, 

The opposites we've borne. 
Why should the Saint in trials faint, 

Though pressed with grief and pain, 
When he believes, seeks, and receives ? 

So strike the lyre again, again, 

So strike the lyre again. 

Poor outcasts we, still forced to flee, 

By mad sectarians driven, 
Condemned, despised, robbed, and reviled, 

Without an insult given. 



170 HARP OF ZION. 



For many years we've sown in tears, 
Yet, dauntless we'll remain ! 

With Ephraim blest, we soon shall rest ; 
So strike the lyre again, again, 

So strike the lyre again. 

Blest Gospel sound, the world around 

Thy saving Truth shall know : 
Till every clime the word sublime 

Shall hear for weal or woe ! 
And when received, or disbelieved, 

Their choice shall then remain, 
Truth shall be free — Eternally ! 

So strike the lyre again, again, 

So strike the lyre again. 



SONGS. 171 



I'M A SAINT, I'M A SAINT. 



I'm a Saint, I'm a Saint, on the rough world wide, 
The earth is my home, and my God is my guide ! 
Up, up with the Truth, let its power bend the knee : 
I am sent, I am sent, and salvation is free. 
I fear not old priestcraft ; its dogmas can't awe : 
I've a chart for to steer by that tells me the law, — 
And ne'er as a coward to falsehood I'll kneel, 
While Mormon tells Truth, or God's prophets reveal ! 
Up, up with the Truth, let its power touch the mind, 
And I'll warrant we'll soon leave the selfish behind. 
Up, up with the Truth, let its power bend the knee, — 
I am sent ! I am sent ! dying Bab'lon to thee, 
I am sent ! I am sent ! take this warning and flee. 

The arm of the tyrant, fell terror may spread, 

Yet, though they oppose us, their strongholds we'll tread. 

What to us is the scorn of the selfish and vain ? 

We have borne it before, and we'll bear it again. 

The fire -gleaming bolts of oppression may fall, 

And kill off the body — death can't us appal ! 

With Heaven above us, and all Hell mad below, 

Through the wide field of error, right onward we go. 



172 HARP OF ZION. 



Come on my brave comrades, now's the time you should 

speak : 
The storm-fiend is roused from his long, dreamy sleep. 
Our watchword for safety in Zion shall be, 
I am sent ! I am sent ! dying Bab'lon to thee, — 
I am sent ! I am sent ! take this warning and flee. 



SONG OF ZION. 

Tune, — " The old house at home." 



Let them talk of this earth as a desert who will, 

Yet, there 's freshness and blossom in parts of it still ; 

Though its green spots are seared, and its sweets turned to 
gall, 

Yet, there 's still on its surface a good place for all. 
Far away from vain strife 
There's a land in the West, 
Where our friends live the best, 
'Tis the Valley of Life ! 

Then why should the tear-drop of care dim the eye, 
When the day-star of hope points the place where to fly ! 



SONGS. 



While the Ensign is raised, and Truth's messengers call, 
Let us off to the Valley, there 's room in 't for all. 
Far away, &c. 

Let them look on this life as the last lot of man, 
Who've no wish to improve all the good in 't they can ! 
Sure the blessings of Ephrahn in fulness recall 
That abundance of wealth 's promised Joseph for all. 
Far away, &c. 

Then let owls seek their holes who despise the bright day, 
While "Like doves to their windows" we'll hasten away, 
Sure there 's nothing in Bab'lon but mis'ry and thrall, 
Then away to the West, for there 's room in ? t for all ! 
Far away, &c. 



174 HARP OF ZION. 



THE MOUNTAIN DELL. 



Away, away, to the mountain dell, 

The valley of the free ; 
Where Faith has broke the tyrant's yoke 

That bound fair Liberty. 

We'll plough, and sow, and joyful reap, 
The land our God has given ; 

To bless our friends, to bless our foes, 
And make our home — a Heaven. 
Away, away, &c. 

No famished children there shall pine, 

Nor frantic mother wild, 
E'er seek to take that life away 

She gave her infant child ! 

Away, away, &c. 

We'll soothe and calm the widow's heart, 

And dry the orphan's tear ! 
Till their bright mirthful eyes impart, 

A joy devoid of fear ! 

Away, away, &c. 



SONGS. 



We'll nurse the bloom of maiden love, 

In chastity when young : 
There faithless boast shall never prove 

A jest for ribald tongue. 

Away, away, &c. 

Where red men trail the buff'lo's track 
O'er mountains' desert sand, 

We'll tell them of their fathers' acts, 
Who once possessed the land. 

Away, away, &c. 

Blest with the Priesthood from above, 
Where Truth on earth shall flow, 

Till every land, and every clime, 
Beneath its mandates bow ! 

Away, away, &c. 

Then while this hour of vengeance lower, 

And sinners find no rest — 
Then hie ye home, ye Saints who roam, 

Your hope is in the West ! 

Away, away, &c. 



176 



HARP OF ZION. 



'TIS FOR THE BEST, 

INSCRIBED TO P. LYNCH. 



Should fortune raise me to possess 

Friends, favour, and renown ; 
And adulation's fond caress 

Exalt me to a crown, 
A monarch's sway, a poet's fame, 

All else the world term blest ; 
And then to lose it all again, 

I'd say, 'twas for the best ! 

To have a kind, endearing wife, 

And children, kind and true, 
And all the good they do require 

In life, to bring them through ; 
And Mends, on whom I'd trust my all, 

Whose kindness past, gave test ; 
And they to turn their backs again, 

I'd say, 'twas for the best ! 



And should the fate of Heaven decree 
That I should be betrayed, 

And all my hopes in life prove false, 
And friends my name degrade ; 



SONGS. 177 



Oh ! though this would undo my soul. 

And all life's hopes divest, 
Yet, dying, I would pray for them, 

And say, 'twas for the best ! 

But what is love, but Truth on earth, 

Though mixed with grief and woe, 
That we may gain a purer birth, 

Where joys celestial flow. 
Experience, though a painful school 

To learn high Heaven's behest, 
Is yet to sage or silly clown, 

A teacher still the best. 

Kind Providence in all her ways 

Seems strange to erring man, 
And present ills have oft been made 

Salvation's future plan. 
Like Job of old, our friends may turn 

From comforters — a pest ; 
Possessions, fortune, fame, take wings, 

Yet find it all the best. 

The adverse fate of all we know, 

Though painful to endure, 
Will in the end increase our store 



178 



HARP OF ZION. 



Of knowledge, and secure 
Our future weal. Though present hope 

Seem in the grave to rest, 
Yet we shall rise in future worlds, 

To say, 'twas all the best ! 



TEY IT AGAIN. 
INSCRIBED TO ELDER C. H. WHEELOCK. 



Should the changes in life, like the tide's ebb and flow, 

Be ceaseless and varied in form, 
And the frail bark of life in a moment forego 

Its reck'ning amidst the dark storm ; 
Stand firm to the helm, and close furl each white sail, 

While the tempest sweeps over the main, 
There is hope in the wind, though destructive the gale ; 

'Twill calm, and we'll try it again, again ! 

'Twill calm, and we'll try it again ! 



There ne'er was a valley but hill-tops appear — 

Nor a storm that 's not spent to a calm ; 
Nor a pain without pleasure, a hope without fear, 



SONGS. 



Nor a wound but has always a balm ! 
When the clouds of adversity gather around, 

And our friends turn their backs in disdain, 
Though the world should conspire all our hopes to confound. 

Let us up and go try it again, again ! 

Let us up and go try it again ! 

The fears of sad parting, the pangs of regret, 

The sighs of fond hope, or dull care, 
Are feelings implanted to make us respect 

The death-sting of hopeless despair ! 
Yes, the tear-drop of sorrow may darken the eye, 

Like the sunbeams obscured by the rain, 
But the clouds will disperse over hope's gloomy sky, 

And cheer up our prospects again, again ! 

And cheer up our prospects again ! 

Then why should we shrink, though the chances of fate 

Are mingled in life's bitter cup ! 
'Tis a mixture designed by kind Heaven to elate, 

And strengthen us ne'er to give up. 
Then come weal, or come woe, let whatever betide, 

Let us run, for the prize we'll obtain ; 
Though the race may be lost by the swiftest who ride, 

Let us up and go try it again, again ! 

Let us up and go try it again ! 



180 



HARP OF ZION. 



CONTENTMENT. 
INSCRIBED TO MRS. HODGETTS, WORCESTER, 



The rich that lie on beds o' down, 

Have something still to mar their rest ; 
And even he who wears a crown, 

With happiness is seldom blest ! 
But I'm determined gowd or gear 

Shall ne'er disturb the peace I hae, 
When poortith frowns, 'tis cauld-rife cheer 

To hanker on life's thorny way. 

Contented, I would envy not 

What fortune has denied me here ; 
But seek within my humble cot, 

Joys that to virtue aye are dear, 
And blest wi' health and strength o' nerve, 

To warsel wi' the storms o' fate, 
I'll seek the power whilk can preserve 

My present hopes and future state ! 



My wife an' I have made a rule, 
To lend to each a helping han', 

And I'm determined no to snoul ! 
And she's as settled no to bann ! 



SONGS. 



She has her faults 'tis very true — 
They're unco' fair without a flaw — 

And I have faults myself, enow 
To balance ill between us twa. 

If aught below give cause for grief 

To ruffle life's fantastic dream, 
Its sunshine and its clouds are brief. 

At best a momentary gleam. 
Afflictions oft we make oursel', 

And mony wants we do create, 
And they who make them weel can tell, 

The bitterness of folly's weight. 

Let wrinkled care, wi' fractious e'e ! 

Despond o'er all the ills o' life, 
I'll seek for joys mair worth to me — 

The peace and weal o' bairns and wife. 
Gi'e kings and lords the helm o' state, 

And ancient barons, pedigree; 
But none of them are half so great 

As I when Jenny smiles on me. 



182 HARP OF ZION. 



AULD MRS. BEARD. 



There's auld Mrs. Beard who lives at Shrubhill, 
I've lived wi' her lang, and had her good will, 
Yet she never grew tired, nor lost her regard ; 
A kind-hearted Saint was auld Mrs. Beard ! 

Chorus — 
Anld Mrs. Beard, anld Mrs. Beard, 
May thy fortune be great, and thy life be long spared, 
Till thy children's children, thou seest them all paired 
To raise up a kingdom for Mrs. Beard. 

Sometimes she was crouse, sometimes she was shy, 
Sometimes she was donee, sometimes she was dry ; 
But her faults were a' virtues, with others compared, 
For a thrifty guid wife was auld Mrs. Beard. 
Auld Mrs. Beard &c. 

When the Elders came roun', none more friendly could be ; 
She lodged them, and fed them, and welcomed them free ; 
In health or in sickness, her fortune she shared ! 
Nor told it to others, did auld Mrs. Beard. 
Auld Mrs. Beard, &c. 



SOXGS. 



had I the power to reward her past toil, 
I'd make her my lady, tho' lord o' an isle ; 
But my proffers are vain, wi' a guid wife I'm saired 
To speak sic-like nonsense to auld Mrs, Beard. 
Auld Mrs. Beard, &c. 



BE IN TIME. 



Ye people all give ear, be in time, be in time ; 

Ye people all give ear, be in time ; 
A prophet of the Lord has revealed His ancient word ; 

Come now your names record, be in time, be in time. 
Come now your names record, &c. 

Repent and be baptized, be in time, be in time ; 

Repent and be baptized, be in time ; 
From Truth you've been enticed, and the Saints you have 
despised ; 
Return, you 're ill-advised ! be in time, be in time ; 
Return ! you 're ill-advised, &c. 



184 HARP OF ZION. 



Ye pious people hear, be in time, be in time ; 

Ye pious people hear, be in time ; 
To Truth yourselves betake, false tradition all forsake ; 

God's judgment 's in the wake, be in time, be in time. 
God's judgment 's in the wake, &c. 

Should you this work delay, you 're undone, you 're undone ; 

Should you this work delay, you 're undone, 
Should you this work betray, and scorn what prophets say 

In this the latter-day, you 're undone, you 're undone ; 
In this the latter-day, &c. 

God's servants may be left, when you 'd come, when you 'd 
come; 
God's servants may be left, when you 'd come ; 
Oh ! then you'll weep full sore, and run from shore to shore, 
And never find them more, when you 'd come, when you 'd 
come, 



And never find them, &c. 



Now the Gospel train 's at hand, be in time, be in time ; 

Now the Gospel train 's at hand, be in time ; 
Crowds at the station stand, with passports in their hand, 

To start for Zion's land, be in time, be in time 
To start for Zion's land, &c. 



SONGS. 



MORMON TRIUMPH, 



To God we'll give the glory, 
And to His prophets cling, 

Though sceptics scout the story, 
We'll laugh, and merrily sing 
Ha, ha ! 

Though fiends have killed our Prophet, 
And scattered thrice the Saints, 

And holy men still scoff it, 

A " Mormon's " heart ne'er faints ! 
Ha, ha ! 

Priestcraft begins to tremble, 

Where'er the Truth does spread ; 

While hypocrites dissemble, 
We'll sing what they all dread ! 
Ha, ha ! 

Behold ! how people gather ! 

God's Kingdom to upraise, 
And spread the news still farther, 

While tyrants on it gaze ! 
Ha, ha ! 



186 



HARP OF ZION". 



The meek will now inherit, 
What vile men would retain ; 

But none shall greatness merit, 
Who know not how to reign ! 
Ha, ha ! 

There parents love their children, 

And children all obey ! 
While Bab'lon's sons bewild'ring, 

Shall go still more astray. 
Ha, ha ! 

But we will preach them sermons, 
And show them right from wrong, 

For none know Truth but " Mormons," 
Although our word seems strong ! 
Ha, ha ! 



And if they will but hear us, 

They'll find they've not been shamed ; 
And those who dare to sneer us 

Will find themselves condemned. 
Ha, ha I 



SONGS. 187 



PILGRIM SAINT'S SONG. 



My hope is in Jesus, who soon shall appear ; 
Then fret not my soul, for his coming is near ; 
The hour of his judgment already is come, 
And the faithful to Zion are gathering home ! 

Ah ! who would rejoice in a land such as this, 
Where the needy are taught that oppression is bliss ? 
Where the hypocrite fawns to the rich, in deceit, 
And the poor lick the dust from the soles of their feet ; 

Where avarice reigns, and where Mammon 's adored ; 
Where wealth has no sympathy, heart-broke implored ; 
Where priests in sheep's-clothing, such grandeur revere, 
And pass the lone poor as if pest'lence were near. 

Though thorny the path be, through sin's gloomy curse, 
And all the black crimes that pale penury may nurse ! 
Yet, they'll vanish like dew in the sun of our rest, 
When the slave shall be free from the hand that oppressed. 

Lo ! Truth has sprung out of the earth, and from Heaven 
An Angel has come with the Gospel, and given 



188 



HARP OF ZION. 



Those records of Truth, long, long hid in the earth, 
Which restore in its fulness the Heavenly birth. 



The scoffer may sneer, and the bigot may frown, 
But God's Truth shall flourish, the more it 's put down, 
Till the earth be restored, as in Eden of yore, 
And the beauty of holiness bloom evermore. 

Then I'll hie me away where my good brethren be, 
To the land of the Seer, to the home of the free ; 
Where we will have knowledge and faith to rely on, 
The pure word of God, in the City of Zion. 



SONGS. 



TO MY WIFE. 



If I but dare to think 

Of all that 's past of thee, 

A strange mysterious link 
Enshrouds my destiny ! 

And if one lonely gleam 

Of dark forgetful sleep 
Steals o'er me, then I dream 

Of thee in visions deep. 

When travelling far alone, 
Among my friends or foes, 

Thy former smile and tone, 
Remembered, soothe my woes. 

If I but hear a song 

Of Zion's Heaven-born love, 
Thy voice amid the throng, 

Seems seraph-like above. 

If I attempt to muse, 

Or study holy books, 
The words I read infuse 

Each page with thy fond looks. 



190 HARP OF ZION. 



Yes ! roam where'er I may, 

In solitude, or throng, 
Thy spirit's presence says 

When shall we meet ? how long ? 

Shall Gentile bonds divide 

Our kindred spirits' joy? 
Shall distance, time, or tide, 

Our Heaven-born love annoy ? 

No, never shall they part 

What God has purely joined ! 

The fond celestial heart 

No power on earth can bind ! 

Then still hold fast the Truth, 
Keep pure to Heaven's decree, 

And thou shalt find, forsooth, 
A husband still in me, 



SONGS. 



SING ME THE SONG. 



I'll sing thee of lands where no tyrant's power 

Shall sever the claims of a people's right ; 
Where Saints shall dwell in their peaceful bower, 

Far away from the stem oppressor's might. 
Then hear ye the song that the Saints revere, 

Of lands more fair and bright than this, 
Where the mother's eye ne'er sheds a tear. 

Sing on, sing on, for such lands are bliss ! 
Sing on, sing on, &c. 

! who would not give all their earthly gain 

To gather away to the land of light, 
Where the Priesthood of God the right retain 

To break the shafts of oppression's might ! 
Then sing me the song of the slave made free 

Where the mountain tops the clouds do kiss ! 
Where the maiden's heart ne'er sad shall be. 

Sing on, sing on, for rich lands like this ! 
Sing on, sing on, &c. 

But where shall we find this fairy vale 

Where the naked are clothed and the hungry fed, 
Where the ear is not stunned with sorrow's wail, 



192 



HARP OF ZION. 



Nor the sound of pollution's voice is heard 1 
Then hear ye the song, for the time is come, 

To know where the pure in peace shall rest : 
That land is the freeman's mountain home ! 

Sing on, sing on, for Deseret 's blest. 
Sing on, sing on, &c. 



A WISH 
INSCRIBED TO ELDER C. H. WHEELOCK. 



Where the voice of friendship 's heard 
Sounding like a sweet-toned bird ; 
Where the holy notes inspire 
With devotion's pure desire ; 
Where fond actions speak the soul ; 
Where true love finds no control ; 
Where the sons of God agree : — 
There may all the faithful be. 



Where the weary find a home ; 
Where the wild deer fearless roam ; 
Where the mellow fruit tree grows ; 
Where the golden harvest flows ; 



SONGS. 193 



Where the bee, the grape, and kine, 
Yield their honey, milk, and wine ; 
Where the curse from earth shall flee: — 
There may all the faithful be. 

Where the Temple-block is laid ; 
Where no foe shall e'er invade ; 
Where the Priesthood's power shall claim 
All that Heaven and earth can name ; 
Where the judge by justice rules ; 
Where the couns'llors are not fools ; 
Where the poor shall judgment see : — 
There may all the faithful be. 

Where the dew-distilling hills 
Drop their fatness in the rills ; 
Where the river, lake, and stream, 
With their finny myriads teem ; 
Where the shade trees round the fold, 
Shield froni heat and winter's cold ; 
Where all nature sings with glee : — 
There may all the faithful be. 



194 



HARP OF ZION. 



OH GIVE ME THAT LAND. 

Tune—" The Ivy Green." 

INSCRIBED TO ELDER T. B. H. STENHOUSE, 

President of the Swiss Mission. 



In a beautiful vale ! a lovely vale ! 

Where the bright sun sinks to rest, 
I'll seek my home. Where the buff lo roam, 
And friends live, I love the best ; 

Where lost in their course the Indians rove, 
I'll seek for that land, of all I love ! 



The merry dance and the pibroch's sound, 

From my native hills are fled ; 
And the joys of freedom are not found 
For which their warriors bled ! 

No more the villagers joyful prove 
Their Highland home is a place of love. 

Let them talk of their feuds, and chieftains graved 

In their steel-clad armour bright ! 
Their clans, and claymores, and banners that waved 
O'er their feathers and kilted might ! 

give me that land where spleen can't move 
The foeman's arm against those I love ! 



SONGS. 195 



Then tell me not of my fatherland, 

And of friends who love me there, 
Its hills, and dales, and their flattering tales, 
Are faded and full of care. 

! what are those charms, to one's own grove ? 
A land of freedom 's the land I love ! 



MARCH OF IMPROVEMENT. 

Tune — " The Lass o' Glenshee." 



Langsyne, when a callant, 

I've oft heard my father 
Talk of wonderful things 

Both by land and by sea ; 
0' great man-o'-wars, 

When in fleets met together, 
How brave they could fight, 

And how fast they could flee. 

He told how the telegraph 

En signed the tidings 
From mountain to mountain 

For thousands of miles ; 



HARP OF ZION. 



How great the discovery, 
The first art of printing, 

That gave us the Bible 
In black-lettered files. 

He talked of the paintings 

Of Raphael and Rubens, 
And portraits unequalled 

By Hogarth the great ! 
But ! had he seen 

The Daguerreotype proven, 
How strangely he'd looked 

At art's embryo state. 

My soul ! had he lived 

In this day of invention, 
I wonder what he would 

Have thought of their skill ; 
To see their ships now 

In then' form and dimension, 
How fast they can sail, 

And how quick they can kill. 

He knew not of Warner's 

Long range ; nor of Congreve ; 
Nor dreamed of the powerful 



SONGS. 



Invention of steam ; 
Nor thought of the winds 

And the boist'rous sea-wave 
Subdued by its strength, 

Without sail, mast, or beam ! 

He knew not of railways 

In every direction, 
Nor of trains flying onward 

With lightning speed ; 
Nor saw he the fire-horse 

That ne'er felt defection, 
Nor weakness, nor fear, 

With but coals for its feed. 

Nor thought he of wires 

Speaking in his simplicity ! 
Bearing quick news 

Of intelligence hence, 
Thus giving a tongue 

To dread electricity, 
Improving our traffic, 

Our morals, and sense. 

If such since my childhood 
The march of improvement, 






198 



HARP OF ZION. 



Compared with my father's 
Vague knowledge of power, 

How futile may seem 
' All our wonderful movements, 

Compared with the light 
Of Eternity's hour ! 



HYMNS. 



201 



CONFIDENCE IN GOD. 



Lord ! responsive to thy call, 
In life or death, whate'er befall ! 
Our hopes for bliss on thee depend ; 
Thou art our everlasting friend. 

Though life be short, and trials seem 
To darken its protracted gleam ; 
Though friends forsake, and foes contend, 
Thou'rt still our everlasting friend. 

Death may distract our present joy, 
And all our present hopes destroy ; 
Yet, these will in the future tend 
To prove thee still our faithful friend. 



let thy Spirit with us dwell, 
That we in future worlds may tell 
How we o'ercame, and in the end 
Made thee our everlasting Friend. 



202 HARP OF ZION. 



CONFIRMATION. 



Lord, do thou thy gifts bestow 

On these adopted ones ; 
And let thy Spirit largely flow, 

And own them as thy sons ; 
Even as thy promise was of old, 

One spirit they should have ; 
That all things past, it should unfold, 

With present light to save. 

In dreams and visions of the night, 

Revealing things to come, 
Unfolding wisdom's purest light, 

Of Zion's happy home : 
New tongues declaring Heavenly power, 

And light t' interpret plain, 
That Saints may know in this dread hour 

Thy gifts are come again. 

Give faith to realize the same ; 

With Truth thy Saints inspire ; 
And own thy people's faith to claim 

All else their hearts desire : 



J 



HYMNS. 



203 



Let Wisdom, Knowledge, Truth, and Love, 
Lead them in thy commands ; 

That they may prove thy gifts divine, 
By the laying on of hands. 



ANOINTING AND PRAYER FOR THE SICK. 



When sickness clouds the soul with grief, 

And wastes this mortal frame, 
Thine ord'nance brings our woes relief, 

Through faith in thy great name. 
Anointed with the Holy Oil, 

And by thy servants blest, 
We wait upon thy promised aid 

In all that we request. 



If sin has brought thy scourging rod, 

May we thy chast'ning prove, 
And learn from all we suffer here, 

Thy precepts more to love ; 
But should the enemy of man, 

Distracting cares intrude, 
Give faith to overcome the ill, 

And triumph in the good. 



204 



HARP OF ZION. 



When darkness and temptations come, 

And worldly cares arise, 
And sickness, poverty, and death, 

Our fondest hopes surprise ; 
let thy Spirit's light impart 

Eenewing strength divine, 
That we may rise above them all, 

And know that we are thine. 



MARRIAGE. 



Lord, do thou in Heaven seal 
The solemn pledge these two have made ; 
And may they still be blest to feel 
The obligations on them laid ! 

And may their constancy of heart 
Be like the master whom they serve ; 
Nor aught in life ill thoughts impart, 
To cause them from this bond to swerve. 

Give them intelligence, and light, 
To build their future bliss upon ; 
And may thy laws, by day and night, 
Unite their hearts in thee as one ! 



J 



HYMNS. 205 



And may this solemn right inspire 
The flame of pure connubial love, 
And virtue prompt each pure desire 
In all the scenes of life to move. 

As sep'rate streams unite in one, 
And flowing deep, their channels wear ; 
May they in love glide smoothly on, 
Still gathering, as they onward bear : 

And like each tributary stream, 
Their loving offspring still increase ; 
Till generations countless seem 
An ocean of their loveliness ! 

Give him the power to guard and shield 
This helpmate of his future life ; 
While she by softer passions, yields 
The solace of a virtuous wife ! 

And when their mortal course is run, 
May still this bond of love endure, 
Till they, celestial honours won, 
Live with the loving and the pure ! 



206 



HARP OF ZION. 



PRAISE TO GOD, 



To thee, God, we do approach 

With gratitude and praise, 
To know thy character is such 

As 'twas in former days ; 
That thou hast made us in thy form, 

Though now we fallen be, 
Yet but in fashion like a worm, 

We'll rise to live like thee. 

Thou dwellest in the purest light, 

Where Truth and glory shine ; 
The brightest of perfected power 

And majesty is thine : 
But man, alas ! how prone to sin, 

How subject to disease ; 
Deformed and fallen, touched with death, 

He bends to every breeze. 

Yes, thanks be to thy holy name, 
For Truth restored to earth ; 

That man, though lost, can now regain 
A pure celestial birth ; 

And be restored to thy bright form, 



i 



HYMNS. 207 



Through constancy and love ; 
To see thy face, and live with thee 
On earth, or Heaven above. 

What honour, glory, and renown, 

Await the pure in heart, 
When they, transformed to be like thee, 

Shall all thy light impart, 
And have eternal lives to give, 

And kingdoms, worlds, to sway ; 
Nor pain, nor death, nor sorrow feel, 

Through all eternity. 



208 



HARP OF ZION. 



CHANT—TRUE RELIGION. 



Let heathens worship stocks and stones, 

And Irun's sons Sol's ray ! 
While more enlightened, holier ones 

Their senseless homage pay ; 
But we will worship in the light 

Of our beloved Seer ; 
And to our God who reigns in might, 

A glorious Temple rear. 

Within its portals we'll be blest 

With knowledge, power, and love ; 
And every other gift possessed 

That comes from Heaven above, 
Will God reveal, nor aught conceal 

That will His people cheer — 
While they with patient ardour seek 

A place Him to revere ! 



There in that holy place will shine, 
The Twelve Apostles' fame, 

Reflecting back the triumphs bought 
From Satan's boasted claim ; 

While in the prisons of the dead, 



HYMNS. 



Salvation greets the ear, 
Through these anointed men with power, 
Those captives lone to cheer. 

We'll to His shrine, our ofFrings bring, 

Of gold and pearls most bright, 
That, consecrated, it may shine, 

A palace of delight ! 
For oh ! how worthless richest gems, 

With Truth compared, appear, 
To sceptred power, and diadems, 

The Priesthood then shall wear. 



Come then, oh, come ! build up a house, 

As Saints they did of old, 
That on this earth, as anciently, 

His name may be extolled ; 
That thence the stream of life may flow 

Through this terrestrial sphere, 
Till every clime, through Truth sublime, 

Celestial honours bear. 



210 



HARP OF ZION. 



CHRIST'S SECOND COMING. 



Come, come, Jesus my Saviour, 

come with thy glorious train, 

Long, long, we've sought the blest favour, 

To greet thy fair presence again. 

Yes, yes, yes, 
When thou comest in glory to reign. 

Then, then, shall thy people behold thee 
Arrayed in thy glorious power ; 
Then, then, shall their arms enfold thee, 
Who spurned thy kind message before ! 

Yes, yes, yes, 
When they learn what for them thou once bore, 

Lo, lo, bright Zion descending, 
With the Ancient of Days to meet, 
And the bride, with the Angels attending, 
Now cast down their crowns at his feet. 

Yes, yes, yes, 
And in triumph each fondly will greet. 

Then earth like fair Eden will flourish, 
Where Saints will take up their abode, 



t 






HYMNS. 



And its fruits will immortal life nourish, 
In the life-giving presence of God. 

Yes, yes, yes, 
There no tyrant will vex with his rod. 



PRACTICAL RELIGION. 



Come let us purpose with one heart, 
To follow virtue, and impart 

The bliss of life below ; 
That we industriously may live, 
And by our labour have to give, 

As Gospel precepts show. 



With diligence we'll still pursue 
Those acts of grace and mercy due 

To toil worn, lab'ring man ! 
We'll aid the helpless, and secure 
The means of life to bless the poor, 

Aud help them all we can. 



212 HARP OF ZION. 



Neat in our dress, not sumptuous clad, 
Nor vain, nor sombre — looking sad ; 

In all our garments clean ! 
Fresh in our bodies, whole our clothes, 
And free from all the spirit loathes ; 

Nor proud, nor lowly mean. 

Still lab'ring with our head or hands, 
We may lay up for just demands, 

And honestly provide 
For spiritual light, and earthly things, 
That we may have the joy that brings 

A Heaven to each fireside. 



J 



HYMNS. 



MILLENNIAL HYMN. 



Hail ! bright millennial day of rest, 

When earth 's restored and Saints are blest, 

Secured from Babylon's doom ; 
Gathered afar from every clime, 
To spend that blissful, happy time, 

Where vernal pastures bloom ; 

Where tyranny no more shall reign, 
Nor famished children beg in vain 

For what their fathers toiled ; 
Nor proud men spurn the poor man's lot ; 
Alike they'll share, nor envy not 

What former av'rice spoiled. 

There Equity and Truth will shine, 
And all revere God's laws divine, 

Nor fear oppressors' wrong ; 
Each shall possess their dwellings fair, 
And eat the fruits their vineyards bear, 

Rejoicing all day long. 



0, Heavenly paradise of joy ! 
Where meek ones live without annoy, 



HARP OF ZION. 



Far, far from Gentile strife ; 
Where God and angels love to dwell, 
With the redeemed whose anthems swell. 

The song of endless life, 

God ! preserve thy Saints t' endure, 
That we thy blessings may secure, 

Within thy promised rest ; 
Then shall our tongues, in ceaseless praise, 
Extol thy name through endless days, 

On earth when it is blest. 



\ 



HYMNS. 215 



ANTHEM. 



This song of praise was composed in commemoration of the Exodus of 
the Latter-Day Saints from Nauvoo, in 1846, when many of them had no 
provision, nor shelter from the inclemency of the season. The Lord then 
sent them flocks of land-fowl, whereby His power was made miraculously 
manifest in the salvation of His people. 

DEDICATED TO ELDER ROBERT CAMPBELL, 

Who was amongst the dispersed, and who lost his wife on that occasion. 



Sound the sweet Anthem o'er mountain and plain, 
Jehovah hath rescued His people again, 

His people again, His people again. 

Shout, ye dispersed, o'er the plains of Missouri, 

The Lord is your helper, though madmen may rave, 
And hunt you afar from your homes, in their fury, 
To herd with the wild beasts, " till want finds your grave." 
Praise to Jehovah, the tyrant and sword 
Have spent all their ire on the Saints of the Lord, 

The Saints of the Lord, the Saints of the Lord, 

Aloft from the Heavens the cry of their wailing 

Brought land-fowls in flocks to the place of their rest, 

Where the hungry and fainting had food without failing, 
In plentiful stores, by Jehovah's behest, 
Praise to Jehovah, &c, &c. 



216 HARP OF ZION. 



Loud rose the hymn of the Saints sweetly sounding ! 

Their enemies heard it, in wrathful amaze, 
Yet the Heavenly boon unto them was astounding ; 

They knew not His power, for they loved not His ways. 
Praise to Jehovah, &c., &c. 

Though far in the mist of the mountain and prairie, 

Be hushed the glad news of the happier home, 
Yet the day-star of Truth, from the mountains of glory, 
Will tell of a kingdom no power shall o'ercome. 

Sound the sweet Anthem o'er mountain and plain ; 
Jehovah hath rescued His people again, 

His people again, His people again. 



THE POET'S FAREWELL. 



€ty $ mf s /amraU. 



Fareweel, my cottie, fareweel, 

Fareweel, my countrymen a' ; 

For there's dool, and there 's wae, 
To auld Scotia's land ; 

And her glory is faded awa' ; 

For the darkness of night, 
O'er the homes of the brave, 

Sets for ever without a rescue ; 
For the terror of night, 
Gives the tyrant his right, 

And her sons starve with nothing to do. 

Ohon ! for fair Scotia, oh on ! 

Ohon ! for her glory laid low. 

On the land, on the sea, 
Naught but wailing there be, 

Proud Scotia, for ever, adieu. 



NOTES. 



u Inspiration" 

As present Revelation is a subject little understood by the religious world, 
the Author would show, in this short essay, the folly of learned men pro- 
fessing to convert the whole human family by books, translations, &c, — 
independent of a living Priesthood ; and by publishing and printing as many 
copies of the Old and New Testament, as could be deemed necessary for the 
world's Salvation. 

Now, supposing all the nations of the earth could have Bibles translated 
into their own language, which would require five hundred versions, how 
could it be accomplished ? comprehending, as they should, all the idioms of 
the half-expressed gesticulations of the various nations for which they were 
composed ! not to mention the changes and improvements going on con- 
tinually, to supply the growing improvement in the knowledge of these 
languages, and nations. 

Any person looking at the changes which our own language has under- 
gone since the days of Ben Johnson, in the sound and sense of words ; and 
the still existing inaccuracies of our best Dictionaries and Lexicons, will 
see, beyond all contradiction, that the best English we are in possession of, 
is far from being pure. 

And that this is an integral part of modern Theology, and the source of all 
their so-called improvement on the Word of God, we have only to look at the 
late edition of Dr. Conquest's translation of the Bible, wherein nearly twenty 
thousand emendations and translations are introduced as being the very 
Truth ! 

With all this before us, and the labour it would require to work out this 
great machinery of Sectarian salvation, the cautious inquirer will easily per- 
ceive the futility of all those schemes which have been so greedily taken 
hold of by the votaries of enthusiasm, in the shape of mesmerism, biology, 
spiritual rappings, &c. ; and which the author endeavours to expose in his 
poem, entitled " Inspiration." 

But, to return to our former argument, let the reader peruse the following 
statement made by one of their own Divines, relative to this book-salvation, 
ere it can reach from the rivers to the ends of the earth. " The population 
of the globe has been estimated at one thousand millions ; of these, only one 
hundred and seventy millions are nominal Christians, leaving eight hundred 
and thirty millions, who are Jews, Mahometans, or Pagans ! Now, it is 
computed, that all the copies of the Bible that have been issued from the 
press since the art of printing was invented, do not exceed thirty-six millions. 
And, supposing all these to have been preserved and distributed throughout 
Christendom, there would still be one hundred and thirty-four millions of 
professing Christians for whom there exists not a single copy of the Word of 
God ! ! To supply each family of this number, with a copy of the Bible, 
would require, at the rate of the British and Foreign Bible Society's opera- 
tions, or issue, not less than thirty years ; while, to supply each family on 
the earth, would require, at the same ratio, no less a period than six hundred 
years." ! ! I 




Such a calculation as the above, sets for ever at rest the worse than ab- 
surd idea of converting the world by books and Bible translations. 

" The word of the Lord endureth for ever, and thij§ is the word, which by 
the Gospel is preached unto you." — 1 Peter i. 25. 



"Lines to Elder Franklin D. Richards, by Miss Eliza R. Snow" 

The introduction of these lines into the Harp of Zion, was chiefly de- 
signed by the Author to illustrate that union of spirit manifested by the 
Muse, on both continents, approbative of good men, and their labours in the 
cause of Truth! As well to show forth the Saintly feeling of brotherhood 
existing among the inspired of God's people. Indeed, the Author feels 
proud of the encomium — 

" The gifted 'Lyon,' whose sweet sounding lyre 
Breathes more than Ida's — breathes celestial fire — " 

bestowed by this deserving lady; and can only return the compliment by 
the insertion of the whole poem. 



" The Prophet:* 

Sometime in the year 1832, Joseph Smith, Seer and Revelator to the 
Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, predicted upon the head of 
Elder Orson Hyde, now President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, 
that he should go to the City of Jerusalem, and be a Watchman unto the 
house of Israel, and perform a work in the consecrating of that land, which 
would greatly facilitate the gathering together of that people. In 1840, a 
lapse of some eight years from the giving of the foregoing Revelation, Elder 
Hyde, after retiring to his bed one evening, and while contemplating and en- 
quiring in his mind upon the field of his future ministerial labours, the vision 
of the Lord, like rays of light, burst upon his view ; when, according to his 
own words, the cities of London, Amsterdam, Constantinople, and Jerusalem, 
all appeared in succession before him, and the Spirit said, "Here are many of 
the children of Abraham, whom I will gather to the land that I gave to their 
fathers ; and here also, is the field of your labours." 

This, together with the former intelligence, inspired him speedily to fulfil 
that mission, which he accomplished in the early part of 1842. 

Since that time, the ancient people of God have been seeking more earn- 
estly to possess the land of their fathers, and have had societies on foot to 
emancipate the poor of their people; while the rich have aided them consider- 
ably to accomplish this great and glorious purpose, in the fulfilment of the 
prophecies of old, concerning them. And, although missionaries from both 
continents, of all denominations, have blindly assisted them to gather, and 
have endeavoured to Christianize them, still, with the exception of their love 
of country, they remain the same, as stiffnecked and rebellious to the belief of 
Christianity as ever they were. We, however, as a Church, believe that they 
will be gathered ; and for this purpose, Elder Hyde was sent, not that they 
should become proselytes to "Mormonism," or that we should convert them 
to the faith that Jesus of Nazareth was the true Messiah, but that they 
should gather together, believing that he is yet to come. After they are 



j 



NOTES. 



223 



gathered, he will appear in his glory to rescue them from the power of their 
enemies. When they behold his hands, and feet, and the wounds he received 
in the house of his friends, then shall they be convinced of their error, then 
shall every family mourn apart, and, believing in him, a fountain will be 
opened in the house of Jacob for the remission of sins. 



" The Orphan." 

This fragment of fortune's reverses, is a true picture, drawn from the past 
history of a good man, who lived not a hundred miles from the city of Glas- 
gow, not fifty years ago. The Author admires greatness, in humble or affluent 
circumstances, and believes the adage of Pope — 

" Honour and shame from no condition rise, 
Act well your part, there all the honour lies ;" 

which should be the measurement of our estimation of all good men. The 
Lord, in the last days, in building up His kingdom, has made choice of 
poor men, who, in the world's estimation, would never have been chosen, 
nor lifted above the meanest circumstances ; thus showing, that He is no 
respecter of persons, save where merit and goodness give a claim to blessing 
and exaltation. 



"Profligacy." 

The ideas suggested in this poem are not particularly in favour of absti- 
nence alone, but to delineate the usages, and meanness of spirit-retailers and 
drunkards. It is one of the greatest features of "Mormonism," that all its 
adherents who are faithful, observe the Word of Wisdom — being a Revelation 
from God ; — that is, they do not believe strong drink to be good for man, and 
consequently abstain from it, not only because it is destructive to the body, 
but because it is ruinous to the whole scheme of social, religious, and 
political government. 



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